


Family of Feathers

by RosePocky



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Family, Character Death, Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Sleepy Boys Inc - Freeform, au where phil uses his hardcore hearts to create a family, they all have wings because i say so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:42:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 31,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27603676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosePocky/pseuds/RosePocky
Summary: Philza is a powerful being in his world, bearing wings and memories that last a lifetime; or two. When he finds himself becoming increasingly lonely, he uses his powers to create a son from his own lifeforce. When Wilbur is a few years old, he creates Techno, and eventually, Tommy. Phil raises his children to be curious and adventurous, and they each develop their own chaotic personalities. When the three of them leave him to choose their own paths, he finds himself constantly tangled in their shenanigans.These will be a collection of short stories and drabbles about my AU!
Comments: 87
Kudos: 670





	1. Intro to the Sleepy Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to the family! Wilbur is the eldest child, with Techno being a few years younger than him. Tommy is much younger than his brothers!

A gentle breeze ruffled the winged man’s feathers, a few fluffy grey tufts dancing off into the distance before him. Phil sighed, eyes closed, and content.. until-  
“Daaad!! Will’s chasing me!!” Phil’s thoughts were broken by the high-pitched cry from Tommy. The young boy was stumbling through the grass, the tiny yellow wings on his back flapping furiously, while his older brother laughed behind him. Tommy grasped a red beanie in his hands, clutching it close to his chest as he continued to yell.  
“Give me my hat back, you gremlin!” Wilbur called inbetween cackles. His own red wings were outstretched, creating a rather large, looming form over his little brother. The chase was brought to an abrupt halt when Tommy bumped into his other brother’s chest, staggering back and tripping to the ground with a soft ‘oof’. Techno looked down at his little brother through his pig mask, pink wings folded neatly on his back. He leaned down and effortlessly picked the child up, scooping his hands under Tommy’s armpits and lifting him up. Tommy kicked in the air, his wings flapping so hard that some of his soft down feathers were starting to drift to the grass below.  
“Let me go! I’ll kill you!” Tommy screeched, while Techno only snorted in amusement. Wilbur caught up, chest heaving to catch his breath. Reaching out a hand, he snatched the beanie back and pulled it over his curly mess of hair.  
“Don’t take my shit, then!” He grinned, only fuelling Tommy’s fury even more.  
“Boys!” Phil’s voice rang through the clearing. The three brothers turned to look at him, ears and wings drooping in unison; except for Techno, who continued to hold Tommy in the air.  
“What did I say about stealing things, Tommy?” Phil walked over and took the child from Techno’s arms. He cradled him against his chest, fighting back a chuckle as his face turned red in shame.  
“Not to do it.” Tommy mumbled, scrunching up his nose with a frown.  
“And Will, what about tormenting your brother?” Wilbur’s face flushed an equal dark shade, folding his arms.  
“He started it!” He tried to argue back, but a gentle tilt of Phil’s head silenced him.  
“Sorry, Tommy.” Wilbur huffed. Tommy stayed quiet.  
“Tommy, I’m going to count to three, and if you haven’t said sorry, there’ll be consequences.” Phil cleared his throat. Techno chuckled.  
“Uh oh, you’re in biiig trouble.”  
Tommy’s only response was to stick his tongue out.  
“One.” Phil started counting, but he needn’t have continued as Tommy murmured an apology, much to Wilbur’s satisfaction.  
As much as the boys caused chaos and headaches to Phil, he wouldn’t exchange them for anything. Years and years ago, he had taken part of his soul and created Wilbur. He had taught him everything he knew; holding his tiny hand as he learned to walk, flying alongside him as his wings grew, and eventually introducing him to his younger brother, Techno. The boy was skilled and sharp-witted, calm and collected. His fascination with pigs as a child made him proud of his strange pink features. The day Phil made a pig mask for him, he was over the moon, and didn’t often remove it. Finally, last but not least, Phil created Tommy. With two responsible older brothers, Phil watched the baby grow into a toddler, and into a child. He was extroverted and loud, even more chaotic than his brothers combined. How the calm and composed Phil had created three strange and energetic brothers, he had no idea. But now, as he watched Wilbur and Techno chatter as Tommy wriggled out of his arms to cling to Wilbur’s leg, he knew he wouldn’t have changed a thing.


	2. Not the Wilbur I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur is out at night, contemplating his situation. The last person he expected to confront him arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Straight into the angst! Have fun :D

Wilbur paced the empty, darkened fields above the hill of grass and dirt that he and Tommy had made their new hole beneath. Tommy was asleep, Techno too; Wilbur had made sure of that before he snuck out. His brothers were both worried about him after his recent outburst and confrontation with Dream. Learning of the upcoming Manberg Festival had tipped him over the edge; something inside him snapped. He didn’t care anymore. No one would side with him. His fists balled tightly at his sides, knuckles turning white. Even his own brothers would betray him. It was only a matter of-  
“Wilbur?” The man whipped round, wide eyes searching the landscape before him. His heart stopped as a familiar figure hovered before him. Phil’s grey wings danced effortlessly in the sky, and he lowered himself to the ground. Wilbur took a step back, eyes fixed on his father.  
“Phil.” He responded, a cold greeting. Phil frowned.  
“What are you doing out here? You’ll catch a cold.” He reached out towards his son, only to be met with the man sharply jerking his hand away.  
“Stop. Stop it. I know what you’re doing, and I know why you’re here.” Wilbur growled, the tips of his own red wings twitching angrily.  
“Who asked you to come?” Phil sighed, rubbing his arm.  
“Tommy. He’s worried about you, Will- I’m worried about you. I may not live with you and your brothers, but I know when you’re hurting, and I know when something is wrong.” Phil placed his hand on his own chest, a soft red glow seeping out from between his fingers. Wilbur’s eyes widened, noticing an identical glow pulsing from beneath his shirt.  
“Remember, I created you. I want to help you.” Phil spoke gently. Wilbur clutched his shirt, tugging harshly at the material as if it were an anchor. His eyes flickered back up to the man before him, crazed and furious.  
“You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know what I’ve been through! You’ve never felt so much betrayal, and torture, and- and helplessness!” Wilbur ran a hand through his hair, his fingers getting tangled as he pulled. His lips curled upwards in an unsettling smile.  
“I built a great empire from the ground, fought to protect it, and lost. Why the fuck does Tommy think I want it back?!” Wilbur’s chest heaved with rapid breathing. Phil masked his horror at what his son had become with a stern look.  
“Your thoughts aren’t stable, Will. Lacing the city with TNT is not the way to solve things. It will only make things worse.” He reached out a hand once more. Wilbur growled and roughly slapped it away. A second later, he realised what he had done and clasped a hand over his mouth.  
“Wait, wait no no no, Phil- Dad. I didn’t.. I didn’t mean to-“  
“I’ve heard enough.” Phil took a step forward while his son staggered back. His eyes were narrowed in a frown. Wilbur couldn’t tear his eyes away, and tripped over a lump of dirt. He hissed in pain as he fell back onto the ground, but was soon silenced when he looked back up at his father.  
“I’m disappointed in you, Wilbur. I brought you up to be kind and patient, but you’re only turning into a paranoid dictator.” Phil sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingertips.  
“You are not the Wilbur I know.” He turned around and began to walk away. Wilbur clutched the ground, tearing up grass as angry tears streaked down his cheeks.  
“You think I’m a monster? Fine! I’ll be a monster! I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way!” He screamed, shakily getting to his feet. Even as the tears flowed, he smiled insanely. Phil looked back at him for one last time.  
“I just hope you come to your senses soon. Take care of your brothers.” And with that, Phil’s large wings flapped and lifted him off the ground again, and he was eventually nothing but a speck in the sky. Wilbur watched until his father had gone; he dropped to his knees and sobbed.


	3. Don't Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil takes his young son on a day out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story here is set before Techno and Tommy were created! I also wrote this before the events of the War for L'Manberg, so any incorrect events are due to that ^^

Phil smiled softly to himself, jerking his head to use the wind and direct his hair out of his eyes as he listened to the giggling child on his back. He held his son’s tiny feet, which kicked with excitement. His shoulders were being clutched by little hands, while more delightful laughter erupted into his ears. He chuckled and flapped his wings again, causing a small amount of turbulence that sent little Wilbur into another fit of giggles.  
His only child was just over 2 years old now, and Phil loved being a father more than anything in the world. When he first formed Wilbur from his own energy, he was worried that bringing life into the world wouldn’t work out well or that he wouldn’t be good enough for it. However, all his frets had been put to rest as he watched the baby grow into a toddler. Wilbur’s sandy-brown curls hung before his sparkling hazel eyes; tiny red wings folded on his back, too small to fly with yet. He was a comedic child, with plenty of adventurous spirit and a loving energy of his own.  
Phil turned his head round to look at the child on his shoulders, a smile forming on his face from the contagious one his son wore.  
“Hey Will, do you want to go to the fields by the beach?” He asked, raising his voice over the wind. Wilbur blinked to clear his vision, nodding enthusiastically while his hands gripped Phil’s jacket collar tightly.  
“Yeah! The one with the biiiig climbing rocks!” He grinned, showing gaps in his teeth where he had begun to lose them. Phil beamed and nodded, warning the toddler to hold on tightly. He spread his wings out even wider, leaning to his left and beginning to circle downwards. If he were alone, he would have simply tucked his wings in and nosedived before pulling back up when he got near the ground; but he didn’t want to scare his child, or teach him anything too dangerous.  
When they finally reached the grassy earth, Phil lightly landed on his feet, reaching round and plucking the little boy from his back. He pressed a fond kiss to his forehead and placed him on the ground. Wilbur stumbled a few times, getting used to the feeling of being back on solid ground, but he quickly got his balance back and ran towards the large boulders he loved to climb. Phil followed behind him, allowing his son to explore and have fun on his own. There was no one else in the field, and Phil hadn’t spotted any creatures nearby on their descent from the air, so he knew that Wilbur was 100% safe here. Even so, he kept an eye on him as he found a patch of heather to lay in. Keeping one eye open, he watched Wilbur’s tiny wings flap as he jumped up to grab a hold on a rock’s edge. The dark red feathers were soft and small and Phil knew that they would one day be as big as his own. The thought was amusing to him. Little Wilbur growing up; it seemed impossible, yet true. He couldn’t wait to see what type of person Will would become when he was older. Would he be a leader; strong and wise? Or would he be an explorer; finding new lands and finding himself?  
Phil was suddenly snapped out of his daydreaming at the sound of a wail. He looked round quickly to see Wilbur had fallen from one of the rocks. His grip must have slipped, and the small boy was pushing himself up from the ground. Within moments, Phil was by his side, pulling his son close and cradling him by his chest. Wilbur sniffed and sobbed, curling into his father’s embrace.  
“I fell and my knees and hands hurt!” He cried, showing Phil the tiny red marks on his palms. His knees were bleeding, but not badly. Thankfully, they were only scratches, and Phil breathed a sigh of relief. He carried Wilbur over to a nearby stream and began to clean the tiny pricks of blood with the water, humming a comforting tune to his son. Wilbur still cried, hiccuping and flinching at the cold water.  
“There’s no need to cry, Will. It’s not the end of the world.” Phil murmured with a gentle smile, soothing his son’s sobs.

“Well, Dad?”  
Wilbur held Phil’s stern gaze. Flames and screams rose up behind the winged man. Scars littered his face and his hands clutched a remote control with a red button on it. Somewhere nearby, another bomb went off, sending a shower of ash and embers into the wind. Another building crumbled. More people ran away with blood streaming down their faces.  
“Can I cry now?”


	4. Philza joined the game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil joins the game to confront his son one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I speedwrote this a few hours after the War for L'Manberg because hoooly crap

“What are you doing?”  
The words echoed in the narrow stone corridor leading into the hollowed-out room which held the button. Wilbur froze. He didn’t need to turn around to know who was stood behind him. Phil rested a hand against the cold walls, his cool and collected gaze scouring the walls. He could barely hold back a wince at the crazed scribbles and scratches of an anthem that had long since been muttered from the trembling mouths of hopeful souls.  
“Phil. Why are you here?” Wilbur finally spoke, his voice cracked and dry. The elder watched his son’s battered red wings twitch and fold neatly on his back, before he turned to look at his father. Phil realised he didn’t see any warmth in Wilbur’s eyes; his son usually had a sparkle of happiness when he turned to see his dad. But now? There was only coldness and emptiness lingering in the dark brown mist.  
“I came to stop you.” Phil took a step forward, adjusting his large grey wings to fit tighter against his frame. He felt the delicate feathers brush against the stone and forced down a shiver from the cold.  
“Stop me?” Wilbur’s response bubbled out of his throat alongside a bitter chuckle.  
“Phil, you can’t stop me. I have to do it. L’Manberg will never be the same, and if I can’t have it,” He turned to face him fully.  
“No one can.”  
Phil frowned, taking another step forward. He felt a vibration shake him through his feet, the distant sound of a firework accompanied by a chorus of screams ringing through the room. Wilbur’s expression soured and he growled, pulling some blackstone out of his inventory and shoving it up against the opening to the room, completely blocking the sunlight filtering through.  
“I don’t want them coming in here.” He muttered, returning to his place beside the button. His hand hovered over the button once more, and Phil clenched his fist.  
“Yknow, Phil. An old friend once had a saying.” Wilbur spoke. The elder narrowed his eyes. Wilbur’s wings flicked behind him, like a wildcat’s tail before preparing to strike.  
“Will. You don’t have to do this.”  
If Wilbur heard, he didn’t make it known. A distant smile spread across his face but it only unsettled Phil.  
“It was never meant to be.” Before Phil could react, Wilbur brought back his fist and slammed it against the button. A soft hiss sounded from behind the stone and Phil barely had enough time to grab Wilbur’s jacket collar and yank his son against him. He instinctively wrapped his wings around them both, ignoring the fact that Wilbur was much taller than him. He squeezed his eyes shut as he held his son close, protecting him from the harsh spray of rubble and debris, dampening the noise of the deafening explosion and shouts of horror from outside. When it finally seemed to subside, Phil uncurled his wings and cracked open an eye. The destruction was more than he had ever imagined. Water spouted from a ledge above the now-exposed button room, trickling down into the smouldering crater below. As Phil’s ears cleared from the noise and he could finally hear properly again, he heard the anguished cry of his youngest son, Tommy. He whipped his head round and spotted him cowering angrily beneath the head of a firework arrow. The one holding it was his older brother. Techno. The man wore a triumphant smile, tightening his grip on the trigger. Phil’s instincts screamed at him to go, to fly and separate his children to stop them from killing each other. The second his wings braced for flight, a harsh tug of his shirt pulled him back to earth. Wilbur laughed, tears streaming down his face.  
“Phil! Phil! Dream lied! Me and Techno are the traitors! He has eight withers ready to go, he’s going to kill them all!” He cackled. Phil’s heart dropped to his stomach, but before he could speak again, Wilbur’s knees gave out beneath him and the man sank to the floor. As if it were automatic, Phil crouched down and held Wilbur in his arms.  
“You couldn’t just stop. You couldn’t just accept things the way they were!” His voice shook; he wasn’t sure if it was from fury or terror. He flinched as the cold metal handle of a sword was thrust into his hands. Wilbur shoved the enchanted diamond sword toward his father.  
“Do it. Kill me. Kill me, please!” He cried, begging for death. Phil straightened up, eyes widening in horror. Wilbur grinned up at him.  
“Do it.”  
Phil shook his head violently, clutching the sword.  
“No! You’re my son!” But the moment those words left his mouth, he knew it wasn’t true. The Wilbur he had created, the Wilbur he had raised from a baby to a toddler to a child to an adult, the Wilbur he loved.. this was not his Wilbur. Phil’s arms raised the weapon.  
“Do it, coward!” Wilbur taunted.  
The sword plunged into Wilbur’s chest a moment later. There was a few seconds of silence before the mad man smiled. Blood dribbled out of his mouth and his hands clutched the wound that was quickly bubbling with crimson. Phil dropped the sword with a clatter. Wilbur looked up at him, shaking.  
“Thank you, dad.” He croaked. Phil knelt before him, and cradled him in his arms until the light had faded entirely from his eyes, and Wilbur had fallen limp. Phil gently rested his body on the cold, cracked stone. He roughly wiped his eyes, tears forming swiftly. The dull ache in his chest pained him more than he was ready to admit. A part of him died with his creation, and he felt hollow.  
A shocked gasp from afar brought him back from his thoughts, and Phil turned to see Techno pulling out a number of blackened skulls from a chest. Shaking his head to clear his mind, Phil picked the sword back up, ignoring the red liquid already dripping from it. There would be time to mourn later, but for now, he had a fight to break up.


	5. After Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil explains to a young Techno what happens when beings like them pass away.

Phil sat by Techno’s side, allowing the small boy to curl against him. He sighed softly and looked back at the dead bird before them. Techno’s little hands trembled and his pink wings quivered. The elder didn’t need to ask him to know the boy was upset and scared.  
“Dad?” Techno broke the silence, looking up at his father with large eyes full of regret. Phil blinked.  
“Hm?” He asked, taking his son’s hands into his own after brushing a strand of pink hair from his face.  
“You know I didn’t mean to do it.. Right?” Phil swore he could feel his heart crack. He scooped the child off the ground and into his lap, cradling him softly.  
“Of course I know that. You didn’t mean to hurt it.” He murmured, shifting his arm so the small boy could bury his face into his chest. Phil gently stroked a hand over Techno’s wings, soothing him.  
Techno had been playing with a little bird when Phil found him that afternoon. The creature danced around him in the air, just slightly out of reach. Laughter had erupted from the boy, whose own wings flapped cheerfully. Things had quickly taken a turn for the worse when Techno reached out for the bird and, not realising his own strength, tugged it down from the air by a wing. A sharp cry from the creature signified it was in pain, and Techno released it quickly in a panic. The bird’s now-broken wing did not aid in it’s flight, and the creature crashed to the ground. Its neck had snapped on impact, and it now lay lifeless amongst the grass.  
Phil knew Techno hadn’t meant to kill it; though it did prove to him that the child was capable of damage and chaos, even at such a young age.  
Phil was brought out of his thoughts when Techno whimpered softly into his chest.  
“Dad?”  
“Yes?”  
“What happens to it now?” The boy asked. “I know it’s dead, but where does it’s soul go?” Phil adjusted his sitting position and sighed. He knew this question would come eventually.  
“Well.. For the bird, its soul will move on to a higher place. All its injuries and pain will dissolve into pure nothingness, and it will join its ancestors in a better place.”  
Techno’s eyes were wide.  
“Will that happen to us if we die?” He asked curiously, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve. Phil shook his head.  
“We’re different. You and Wilbur were created from my power. I gave up a part of myself to bring you both into the world.” Phil smiled softly. “That power can’t easily be destroyed, you see. It has to go somewhere. And in our case, it goes into your soul. When we die, we are given the power to spectate, to observe. We are no longer living, but we are not entirely dead either.”  
Techno tilted his head to one side in confusion.  
“So, we become ghosts?” Phil stifled a chuckle.  
“I suppose so, yes. We can observe this world and watch over the ones we love. We cannot interact with them, but we do not disappear either.”

The deafening booms and firework whistles sounded distantly in Wilbur’s head. He groaned, clutching his skull with one hand as he used the other to push himself into a sitting position. What had happened? Where was he? He cracked open an eye, trying to recognise his surroundings. To his surprise and utter horror, he saw himself. His own body lay beneath him, bloodied and battered. His eyes were wide open, glassy and glazed over. Crimson liquid created a sticky bed beneath him, and his red wings lay limp on his form. Wilbur scrambled to his feet and stumbled back, struggling to control his panicked breathing. He looked at his now-trembling hands. They were transparent. He could see through the gentle glow of his palms, the crumbling rock and debris still visible to him. When he hopped over his corpse to a pool of water, he could faintly see his own outline. It took him a few moments to realise what had happened, and he sank to his knees. His wings were black; a sign of the corruption that had taken him. He was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's how the death mechanics work in this universe! Only beings like the sleepy boys can do this, however. If a regular human dies, that's it.


	6. An Overdue Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Wilbur's funeral, Phil meets his grandson for the first time since he was an infant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst pog
> 
> Also!! Follow me on Twitter @roserocks_art! I'd love to chat about headcanons and worldbuilding for this AU!

The rain pattered heavily on the ground in the ruins of L’Manberg. Phil blinked a number of droplets out of his eyes, tugging his hat forward to shelter more of his face. His wings felt more weighted than usual, the wetness seeping into his feathers and dragging them down so they brushed against the muddy grass beneath his feet. He hadn’t moved his gaze from Wilbur’s gravestone. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the funeral.  
When the fighting finally subsided and the last of the withers had been destroyed, Phil finally got to formally meet the rest of his sons’ army. He greeted Niki warmly, bowed to Eret, and assisted Quackity with collecting bandages and healing potions for those who had been wounded. He had knelt beside Tubbo, offering a friendly but sad smile; the new president wrapped his arms around his neck and hugged him tightly before whispering a quiet “thank you for being here”. Phil watched from the skies as Techno fled the scene. If the pig-masked man saw his father, he didn’t show it. The flapping of wings beside him broke Phil out of his thoughts, especially when a weight collapsed against him. Tommy strained to keep flying, clutching to his father as if he were a lifeline. His yellow wings were stained red with blood, and bald spots where feathers had been tugged out showed Phil that his youngest son had been through a lot more than he would let on. The two landed and embraced without the need for words.  
The funeral had been quick. No one was sure how to mourn Wilbur. After all, how do you feel sorrow for the death of the man who had terrorised your home and betrayed you? The small gathering exchanged cheerful memories of Wilbur before the war; before his madness. The rain wasn’t planned, but it sure was fitting. After Tommy and Tubbo had walked away to discuss future plans, and the new collective followed suit to begin gathering materials, Phil was left behind. He felt regret finally sinking in and filling up his chest until it clogged his throat. A broken sob left his mouth and he stumbled to his knees. He couldn’t get the image of Wilbur’s cracked smile as blood trickled down his chin out of his head. The blade had cut through his torso like butter and it made Phil shudder with how easily he did it. His hands trembled and he pressed them into the cold, wet grass.  
Suddenly, someone cleared their throat behind Phil, causing the man to sharply whip his head around. A ginger furred man with a soft snout, black ears, and a fluffy tail dampened from the rain stood there. Fundy tucked his hands into his pockets, gazing down at Wilbur’s grave.  
“I’m.. not interrupting you, am I?” He asked quietly. Phil wiped his eyes with his sleeve and struggled to his feet.  
“No. Not at all. Sorry.” He murmured in response. Phil felt a tightness in his chest. Fundy was his grandson.

Fundy was created when Wilbur and a forest spirit who took the form of a salmon mermaid named Sally, merged their energies together; much like how Phil used his energy to create his sons. When Sally left to join her kind in migration, she encouraged Wilbur to take care of their child. With a final kiss to his cheek, she left, diving into the water and taking her salmon form. When Wilbur retold the story, he explained how he had sat at the edge of the docks for hours, cradling his son in his arms as he waited for her to return. Fundy was a half-forest spirit, with the form of a fox. He never knew his mother and was reluctant to ask Wilbur about her, as he usually reacted badly when her name was mentioned. Forest spirits work differently in this world; they mature and grow a lot faster than humans. They spend very few years as children and grow into adults quickly, which is how they remain for their lifetime. Wilbur raised Fundy in the walls of L’Manberg, aiming to give his son the best life he could have. When Fundy was only a few weeks old, Phil received a letter inviting him to visit. Within days, Phil arrived, anxious and excited to meet his new grandson. Wilbur approached, holding the soft bundle in his arms with a gentle smile. He handed the baby to his father, who's experienced hands tucked him close to his chest. The little half-forest spirit had gazed up at him, tiny ears twitching and eyes wide with curiosity.

Unfortunately, due to the multiple wars that had occurred soon after, Phil had not been able to visit, and instead caught up with how his kin were doing via letter. So when Fundy, fully grown and shaped by conflict, stood beside him now, Phil wasn’t sure what to say.  
“My father wasn’t a good man, was he?” Fundy broke the silence. Phil struggled to find the words.  
“He.. was troubled. He was betrayed so many times and lost so much.. That sort of experience does a lot to a man.” He stumbled through the words, watching Fundy’s tail tip twitch. The fox hummed in acknowledgement.  
“Y’know, I should hate him. I really should. He raised me to fight in wars. He wouldn’t tell me about my mother. When I revealed I had been working against Schlatt, he said he hated me, and that it would never change. And yet..” Fundy sniffed, and Phil spotted that his eyes were wet with tears.  
“I miss him.” Fundy brought his hands up to hide his face, but the telltale shaking of his shoulders gave his emotions away.  
“I miss him, Grandpa. I never wanted to be an orphan.” Those muffled words broke Phil’s heart even more. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his kin, allowing the fox to cry into his shoulder.  
“I don’t want to be alone.”  
“You aren’t.” Phil answered quickly and confidently, rubbing Fundy’s spine comfortingly.  
“I’m here. And you’ve got Tubbo. And Tommy, Niki, Quackity; everyone is here for you.” Phil smiled sadly.  
You won’t be alone again.”


	7. Dancing with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur watches Fundy and Phil at his grave, and comes face to face with the last person he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly at 1k hits!! This is crazy! I love seeing all your comments, it really motivates me to create more stuff for this AU :D
> 
> Feel free to drop headcanons or questions in the comments!

Wilbur watched his father and son embrace from afar. His hands hung loosely at his sides, grey transparent skin giving him a rather fitting lifeless appearance. His blackened wings drooped, feathers hanging low. His heart felt heavy. Wilbur had heard the whole conversation that Fundy had with Phil. During his funeral, Wilbur had lingered nearby, perching atop a large boulder amongst the nearby rubble. Seeing Phil break down at his grave had broken his heart, and hearing Fundy say that he missed him had simply shattered it. He clenched his fist. He would do anything to go back; to tell his family he loved them. Would they believe him? It was debatable. He had lost his mind in the last few months, and although he had found some sort of peace in death, his family and friends wouldn’t know that.  
“Reminiscing, hm?” A voice from behind Wilbur caused the ghost to jump in surprise. He brushed some hair out of his face and turned to see who it was, assuming it to be one of his friends. He froze.  
Schlatt stood behind him. His skin was a ghostly grey too, and he was similarly transparent. His hands were stuffed into his trouser pockets and he wore a small smile. His eyes were dark, and his ram horns were black. Wilbur got to his feet, frowning in utter confusion.  
“Surprise, Soot. You’re not the only ghost around here.” Schlatt lifted his hands in mock shock.  
“But I- you- I thought only beings like me and Phil could-“  
“Could walk the land of the living while dead?” Schlatt laughed. “Fuck off with that nonsense.” His eyes narrowed.  
“If you’re a being with power, you can do what you like when you finally kick the bucket.” The horned man took a step towards Wilbur, who stepped back with an anxious twitch of his wings.  
“Calm down, Wilbur. I’m not gonna hurt you.” A sparkle in the ghostly man’s eyes told Wilbur otherwise, but his relaxed tone convinced the winged man to untense his shoulders. He huffed and leaned back against the crumbling frame of a building.  
“So.. heart attack, huh?” Wilbur hummed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Schlatt moved over to stand beside him.  
“Yeah. I guess I overworked myself. Barely saw it coming.” Schlatt forced a chuckle.  
“Though, I would’ve died in that dusty old caravan either way. You gave the fuckin’ order, remember?” Wilbur exhaled out of his nose, amused.  
“Can you blame me?”  
“Nah. Not really. You had me cornered.” Schlatt went to kick a pebble that lay by his foot, grunting in frustration as he phased through it.  
“So, daddy stabbed you through the gut?” Schlatt’s bluntness causes Wilbur to sharply meet his gaze. The atmosphere shifted slightly.  
“I asked him to.”  
“And he did it willingly.” Schlatt smirked.  
“How much hesitation did he have? How much did he bargain and plead not to do it?” Wilbur opened his mouth to retaliate, but found himself faltering. He growled, feathers bristling.  
“You don’t know what happened. You weren’t there.”  
“And how do you know that?” The horned man had a knowing edge to his voice.  
“I died before you did. I could’ve been in that room with you, for all you knew.” Schlatt leaned in close and whispered in his ear.  
“I saw what happened, and I saw that Phil wanted to kill you. I bet he wanted to drive that blade into your chest so, so many times.” Wilbur jerked back, shoving Schlatt away. The two seemed a little stunned at the fact they could interact with each other, but that only lasted a moment before Wilbur flapped his wings and launched at Schlatt. He knocked the man to the ground, sitting on his chest and holding him down by his throat. His eyes were wild, a chaotic contrast to Schlatt’s calm goat-like eyes.  
“What are you going to do? Kill me?” He croaked.  
“Good fucking luck. We’re already dead. There’s nothing you can do to stop me pestering you until we turn to wisps in the wind.” Schlatt strained to laugh, cackling as Wilbur reluctantly resigned and got to his feet. He looked down at the other, whose laughing subsided into a simple, cocky smile.  
“Don’t talk about my family like that. Ever. Again. Or you’ll have hell to pay.” Wilbur snarled, stepping away. He turned away and took a deep breath to calm himself. His nerves felt on fire.  
When he looked back at his grave, he found that Phil and Fundy were gone. Fundy’s flowers lay on the soil beside the stone, petals gently moving along with the subtle breeze. In that moment, Wilbur knew. He may not have looked after his family and friends in life, but he was damn well going to protect them in death.


	8. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and his family are out on a walk. All is going well until they run into a small boy on the side of the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff for once!  
> I wanna thank y'all for 1k hits! I absolutely adore checking my notifs to see new comments and kudos, it means the world to me! Feel free to ask any questions about the AU, or to provide some headcanons!

Tommy clutched his father’s jacket, clinging tightly to him whilst resting in his arms. His brothers ran alongside them, yelling jokey insults at each other.  
“I’m gonna catch you, Wilbur!” Techno called. Wilbur stifled a giggle.  
“Nah, I can run faster than you!” He shouted over his shoulder. The young boys’ wings flapped in an effort to move quicker, even though neither child had quite mastered the art of flying yet. Wilbur had recently turned 12, and Techno, who was only a few years younger than him, was 9. Tommy, who was 4, frowned and struggled to get out of his father’s grasp, wriggling uncomfortably.  
“Oh? What’s up, Tommy?” Phil steadied him, turning him round so they could face each other.  
“I wanna go with Wilby and Techno!” Tommy pointed at his brothers, who were growing smaller as they ran further along the track. Phil looked up towards the boys, before giving Tommy a nod and a gentle smile.  
“Of course. Just make sure you don’t run too far, okay? I’ll be right behind you.” Phil gently crouched and placed the child on his feet. Tommy held his arms out for balance, before giving his father a toothy grin and running after his brothers. His little yellow wings streaked out behind him; soft baby feathers fluttered in the breeze.  
“Wilby! Techno! Wait for me!” He held an arm up and called to his brothers. Unfortunately for the small boy, they didn’t seem to hear him as Techno grabbed Wilbur’s beanie off his head and attempted to hover just out of reach. Wilbur easily launched himself upwards and grabbed the hat before tumbling back to earth and sitting in a soft patch of ferns. Tommy grumbled to himself, trying to speed up and reach them before they left him behind.  
All too quickly, however, the ground disappeared beneath his feet and Tommy was sent rolling down a steep hill. He covered his face with his arms, tucking his wings against his back tightly. He collided with something in front of him, and both were sent stumbling back. Tommy sat on the grass, pushing himself to his knees and holding his head with an irritated groan. A sniffling noise in front of him caused him to snap open his eyes.  
There was another boy! Tommy must have tumbled into him when he fell down the kill. The child sat in the long grass, clutching the oversized green sleeves of his messy shirt. His eyes welled with tears and he looked down at a little scratch on his knees. Tiny pricks of blood were beginning to bead, and the boy struggled to hold back tears. Tommy felt a pang of guilt that he accidentally caused him to fall and hurt himself, and he got to his feet. Walking over, he put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.  
“Hey, I’m sorry I ran into you. I didn’t see the hill.” He mumbled, offering a friendly smile. The boy in the green shirt returned the smile, eyes sparkling brightly amidst the tears.  
“It’s okay! It just really hurts is all.” He wiped his eyes and Tommy sat beside him.  
“What’s your name?” He asked. Tommy was about to respond before Phil’s voice rang loudly over the top of the hill.  
“Tommy! Where did you go?” He called. Wilbur and Techno walked beside him, worry etched on their faces. Tommy waved from where he was sat.  
“I’m down here, dad!” Phil spotted him almost immediately and carefully made his way down the steep slope.  
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asked, kneeling at his son’s side before spotting the other child.  
“Oh, hello! Who are you?” He gave him a warm grin. The boy seemed to relax a little.  
“I’m Tubbo. Nice to meet you, sir.” He held out a shaky hand for a polite handshake, and Phil took it with a chuckle.  
“It’s nice to meet you, Tubbo. Where’s your parents?” Phil asked softly, glancing over Tubbo’s shoulder and looking down the road.  
“I.. I dunno. I’ve just kinda been here for a while.” Tubbo admitted quietly. He looked down, wincing as he touched the scratch on his knee. Phil frowned. He unzipped his satchel and picked out a bandage; he had learned to carry healing potions and plasters due to his sons’ chaotic natures, one was always bound to get hurt during their travels. He met Tubbo’s gaze, who returned it with a small nod. Phil took his permission and began to carefully wrap the bandage round his knee.  
“Do you know where your parents are?” He asked. Tubbo shook his head.  
“Do you remember where you came from?” Another shake.  
“Do you remember anything?” Another shake, and Tubbo looked down sadly. Tommy frowned and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
“So you’re all alone here?” Tubbo nodded.  
“Yeah. I woke up here earlier but I don’t know anything else.” Tubbo reached round and picked up a little plush he had hidden behind him. It was a soft bee, stained green and brown from the mud he had been sat on beside the road, but he clutched it as if it were a lifeline.  
“I have this toy though! It’s a bee. I love bees.” He beamed. Phil laughed softly, getting to his feet and offering a hand to Tubbo.  
“Would you like to come with us? We can help you find where you came from.”  
Tubbo’s eyes widened and he nodded eagerly, scrambling to his feet and taking Phil’s hand while carrying the plushie in the other. Phil helped him up the slope as Tommy ran ahead to meet with his brothers.  
“Tubbo!” He exclaimed when the boy reached the top with Phil. “These are my brothers! Techno and Wilby!”  
“I’m not called Wilby.” Wilbur huffed, but extended a friendly hand to Tubbo.  
“I’m Wilbur.” Tubbo shook his hand with a grin, before turning to Techno. The pink-haired boy smiled.  
“Techno. Nice to meet you.” Techno didn’t offer a handshake, but nodded politely to him before turning to walk again. Phil rolled his eyes at his sons’ behaviours, but gestured for Tubbo to come with them.  
“We’re taking our daily walk, then we’ll head home. I’ll make some carrot and potato soup for dinner, and I can easily whip up a new bed for you. You might have to share Tommy’s room for now, but I assume that won’t be an issue.” Phil continued to ramble, not noticing the fact that Tommy and Tubbo were giggling to each other as they muttered jokes. Tommy grinned at his new friend. They were going to get along well, he already knew it.


	9. Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief review of how L'Manberg started, all the way up until the festival. Perhaps something is being realised under the surface as well.

When Wilbur suggested creating a new country, Tommy had been unsure. They had recently moved to a new land that was already populated with people they knew and already, Wilbur had come up with some crazy ideas. They had made little groups and battalions in other lands, fighting in mock battles, but this time, Wilbur was serious.  
“C’mon, Tommy! We can call it something cool. Something genuine.”  
“L’Manberg.” Tommy scoffed after he muttered the first dumb-sounding word that came to his mind, but his older brother’s eyes had fixated on him with an inspired sparkle.  
“L’Manberg.. Yes!” Wilbur exclaimed, picking up a stick and lodging it in the earth.  
“From today, this land will be known as L’Manberg!” Tommy hadn’t ever expected to become so fond of the little country, but after he had built walls, collected materials, and befriended new allies, he felt oddly protective when a man named Dream threatened it. But, we know how the story goes. L’Manberg won and Tommy, who was healing slowly from some pretty bad wounds, signed the Declaration that announced their home as independent. He and Tubbo continued to live in their little haven; that was until Wilbur announced a new idea.  
“How about an election? We can run, and we’ll easily win!” Tommy, fuelled by their victory of the war, agreed quickly, and preparations began. When a neighbouring man named Quackity proposed a new party to run against them, Tommy felt even more competitive. Wilbur felt so confident as to even bring in an old friend of his; a strange man named Schlatt with large ram horns on either side of his head, and horizontal pupils in his blue eyes. Tommy simply rolled his eyes, but when the results were announced a few weeks later, he wasn’t feeling so cocky. Schlatt banished him and his brother, and for the first time, Tommy and Tubbo were separated. Tommy glanced over his shoulder at his best friend as he sprinted away, who watched helplessly. Schlatt placed a hand on his shoulder. When their equally blue eyes met, Tommy began to realise something that made his gut curl. The way Schlatt looked at Tubbo, the way Tubbo’s stance and brown hair seemed so similar to the newly elected president’s. For a split second, Tommy saw himself and Phil stood there, before an arrow whistled narrowly past his face and the vision was broken. Tubbo fidgeted with the hem of his shirt uncomfortably, and Tommy fled.  
Panicked, Tommy sent a hurried message to the one person he knew he could rely on when it came to government conflict. Techno arrived swiftly. His pink hair had grown long from his time farming potatoes in solitude, and he had braided it into a messy plait that lay neatly on the red velvet of his robe. The crown on his head glistened in the sun, and his pig mask was expressionless. He joined his brothers in the ravine which they named Pogtopia, and the three brothers worked together to stay alive. Tubbo was able to sneak out and help them as a spy, but Tommy shuddered whenever he mentioned Schlatt. He still couldn’t get the image out of his head. Tubbo and the tyrant had almost looked like-  
“Tubbo, what do you think of Schlatt?” Tommy asked one day, out of the blue. Tubbo stopped midway through whatever he was saying, a confused look crossing his face.  
“I don’t know. He’s kinda mean to everyone, especially you guys. But he’s cleaned up the place a lot. No offense to Wilbur, of course, but there’s a lot less.. conflict.” Tommy frowned.  
“I mean, what do you think of Schlatt. Not what he’s done for L’Ma- Manberg.”  
Tubbo faltered, leaning back against the cold, chilly walls of Pogtopia.  
“He’s nice to me. He says he reminds me of himself, and that I’m reliable by his side. I think he trusts me.” Tubbo huffed with a joking smile. “No clue why.”  
And once again, we all know the story. This one isn’t as happy as the last.  
The day of Schlatt’s promised festival arrived. Tubbo was prepared to make a speech and announce the codeword that would allow Wilbur to run to a hidden room, press a hidden button, and make a not so hidden explosion. Tommy’s nerves were high on edge. The recent madness of his eldest brother had done little to comfort him. Techno didn’t seem to care. Tubbo was helping Schlatt more and more often. Tommy was alone. However, when things began to take a turn for the worse at the festival, Tommy felt his wing feathers bristle in fury and he clutched his sword tighter. Tubbo completed his speech, and was trapped inside a box of yellow concrete. Tommy knew he would never be able to get that image out of his mind, especially when his trusted brother stepped up to perform the execution. Of course, Techno insisted he didn’t do well under pressure, but Tommy’s burning anger didn’t allow him to accept that excuse. Though, one thing that puzzled him about the event was when Schlatt held a hand up to stop Techno for a moment, and leaned into the box to whisper something to Tubbo. The boy’s eyes widened, and he barely reacted as Techno aimed the firework at him and pulled the trigger. The action was a blur and gave Tommy a headache to think about; but one thing he remembered clear as day was when he went to find Tubbo, who had escaped alive. They found each other in the underground tunnels near Pogtopia, and Tommy rushed at Tubbo with tears pricking at his eyes. His best friend forced a smile despite the fact his skin peeled with burns, and blood trickled out of the many cuts he had obtained in the explosion. He had survived, but at a harsh cost.  
“I’m so glad you’re alive.” Tommy had mumbled into Tubbo’s shoulder, who shakily clung to him.  
“What the hell did Schlatt tell you? Maybe you could have ducked and missed the direct aim of the damage, but you just looked… shocked.” Tommy questioned, lowering his voice. Tubbo opened his mouth to reply, but a pained expression crossed his face and he shook his head.  
“I don’t.. I don’t want to talk about it.” He sniffled, wincing at the burns that patched his skin.  
“Can we go home?”  
“Of course. Of course we can, big man.”


	10. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fundy’s childhood was not one he wanted to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fundy based chapter pog!! Let me know what other characters or events you’d like me to write about!

Fundy didn’t remember much of his mother. Sally, as he had learned her name was, had been a salmon mermaid; a forest-spirit. He knew that his parents had put their energy together to create him. A result of their love, he often thought bitterly.  
And so, Fundy came into existence. He was half forest-spirit and half whatever Wilbur was. Forest-spirits were genderless as default, but took certain pronouns or appearances if they so chose. Wilbur had referred to Fundy as a girl for some of his childhood, until the little fox became a toddler and was able to communicate that he felt different.  
Fundy often lay in bed at night, cradling himself with his eyes closed in an attempt to remember more of Sally. Sometimes, if he concentrated enough, he could feel her arms wrap around him, holding him close to her chest. Her cooing and lulling voice comforted him, and his ears flattened softly as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. He could occasionally hear Wilbur nearby, talking about everything and nothing, before going quiet. Even though it was a memory, Fundy could feel his father’s eyes settle on him. It made him smile to know that Wilbur had once loved him dearly.

He didn’t remember much of the day that Sally left. Her community was fleeing, moving into new seas and new territory. Fundy was too young to go with her, and he wasn’t a salmon forest-spirit like she was. He wouldn’t stand a chance in the oceans. He sometimes dreamt about it. Sally’s face was blurry, but her gentle blue eyes and red hair stuck out in his memory. Her arms loosened from around him as he was transferred to Wilbur’s hold. She pressed a loving kiss to his head before swimming away sadly. His tiny hands reached out to her, protesting as she grew smaller and smaller until she was a mere speck on the horizon. And then.. she was gone. Fundy would wake from those dreams with his heart aching and tears pricking his eyes.

Forest-spirits mature a lot faster than humans. They spend less time as children and gain the appearance of adults within a few years. Their personalities grow with them, and they learn very fast. Even for a half forest-spirit like Fundy, this applied. He had faint memories of being a toddler, pushing himself to his feet and staggering towards Wilbur’s outstretched arms. When he finally reached his father and collapsed against him, Wilbur cheered and held him up in the air.  
“My child! My beautiful, beautiful child.” He exclaimed, holding him close and wrapping his red wings around them both. In those moments, Fundy thought that he would be forever safe as long as his father was by his side.

Wilbur taught Fundy how to fight when he was old enough to hold a sword. He crafted a little wooden one and taught his son everything he knew about how to defend himself. Fundy would clutch the handle with one hand, his feet apart, ears pricked forwards, and eyes narrowed on his opponent; this was often a dummy stuffed with hay. Wilbur watched closely, instructing him sternly and correcting him with a flick of his wings if he got his footing wrong or performed a swing badly. Fundy’s frustrations grew, but he knew his father was only doing this to ensure he could protect himself. At this point in his life, Wilbur was having discussions with Tommy, Fundy’s uncle, about creating a new nation. He was planning and plotting so much that Fundy was often left to his own devices. The little fox would wander the woods alone, pressing his hands to the trees and feeling the low hum of life run through them. He had more of a connection to the forest than the humans did. He thanked his mother for that. Each day, the child would travel to the docks and sit on the edge of the pier. Pulling a piece of paper out of his satchel, he would pick up a nearby empty bottle and roll the message in it, before pressing a cork in and throwing it into the waves below. Perhaps one day, his mother would send a letter back.

As Fundy grew older, the nation he was born in grew with him. Wilbur spent more and more time away from his son. After years of similar treatment, it was understandable that the fox was a little bitter. The immense love he had felt just a few years ago quickly turned sour. He tried to impress his father, learning new battle tricks and building impressive structures; but nothing seemed to pull Wilbur’s full attention onto him. Even when war came, Fundy fought by his father’s side but was only babied by him. He kept his mouth shut and clenched his fists, claws digging into his skin.

When Wilbur called an election, an idea sparked in Fundy’s head. He spoke to Niki, another member of L’Manberg, and together they agreed to start a party to run against Wilbur. They named it COCONUT2020. Fundy felt anger build in his gut at Wilbur’s cocky reaction to his announcement. His father didn’t believe they could win. His father never believed in him.  
But his father didn’t smile when the results came back. Schlatt and Quackity won. Although Fundy was irritated that he and Niki hadn’t won, something about the way Schlatt spoke piqued his interest. And when Schlatt banished Wilbur and Tommy from L’Manberg forever, Fundy watched. Wilbur looked over his shoulder as he ran and for a split second, his eyes met his son’s. Fundy frowned, and he swore he heard his father’s heart crack. The fox was too bitter to care.

Fundy’s anger had been building and building as he realised how well Manberg was doing under Schlatt’s rule. One day, he had enough. He walked past the large flag he had created for his father’s nation and growled. Impulsively, he grabbed a handful of sticks and held them in a nearby campfire until they caught flame. Then, he held it against the rope on the flagpole. Fundy’s eyes watched as the fire raced up the pole and began to burn the flag. As soon as smoke began to rise into the air, he heard screams from afar. Niki and Eret had spotted the flag with their hands clasped over their mouths. Niki’s shoulders shuddered with a few broken sobs, and Eret pulled her into a comforting embrace. Suddenly, Fundy felt eyes burning into his back, and he whipped around to see Wilbur staring at him. The two held their gazed steadily. Fundy stood his ground, but was secretly taken aback at the hatred in his father’s eyes. In an act of fury, he held his fist to the sky and yelled, “down with the walls!” Wilbur’s wings twitched furiously. Slowly, he shook his head and turned away, walking back into the woods.

The child who does not feel the love of the village will burn it down to feel some semblance of warmth.


	11. Strange Happenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur notices something strange about Quackity, and then discovers something even stranger in his mind.

Schlatt had been around less and less. Wilbur’s ghost often wandered the crater of L’Manberg, gazing round at the destruction and newly formed rocks due to his tnt blast. Sometimes he would visit his grave, and other times he would watch his friends and family. He lurked in the corners of Eret’s castle, watching King George order Dream and Sapnap around with a badly hidden laugh seeping into his voice. He discovered a hollowed out area in the sewers and named it as his own little hideaway. He would watch Techno practising his fighting skills and potato farming in isolation. Phil would sometimes visit him, but the tension was always strong between them. Wilbur knew where everyone was; except Schlatt. When the two spirits had found each other, they spent their time bickering and joking with each other. The ram-horned man was even more insufferable in death, but he was the only company Wilbur had. So when he started appearing even more scarcely than before, Wilbur noticed. He checked all the usual places that Schlatt would hang out. Perhaps he was in the newly reconstructed camarvan? His grave? Maybe even Dream’s place? Wherever Wilbur looked, the horned ghoul was nowhere to be found. It irritated Wilbur to an extent he never thought he would reach. He hated Schlatt. He declared war against him in life. But he was the only other ghost here, and Wilbur felt himself growing even more insane without someone to talk to.  
Finally, after weeks of searching, Wilbur spotted something off. Quackity, the man who ran for president against him shortly after L’Manberg gained its independence, had been collecting weapons and meeting with people in secret behind Tubbo’s back. Wilbur hadn’t spent much time with Quackity while he resided in Pogtopia before the recent war, but he knew the way that the man acted. He wasn’t bloodthirsty, and he certainly didn’t betray his true friends. Wilbur started following him around as his suspicions grew. Quackity’s demeanor was different to how he remembered. Was his voice always this gruff?

“Hey Schlatt?”  
“Yeah?” Wilbur and Schlatt were in one of their now-rare meetings. Wilbur sat on the edge of a rock, kicking his dangling legs and leaning back against his hands. Schlatt was laying on the edge of a wooden beam that was being used for the construction of L’Manberg’s new podium area.  
“Where do you go?” Wilbur asked bluntly, narrowing his eyes on the ghost before him.  
“None of your business.” Schlatt retorted, staring into the sky. Wilbur frowned.  
“You’re a fucking ghost. You don’t just disappear. Where are you going?”  
“None of your goddamn business, Wilbur!” Schlatt snarled. “I have my own things to do.”  
“What?” Wilbur scoffed in disbelief. “Haunting mansions? Pushing cups off shelves?”  
Schlatt shot a sharp glare in Wilbur’s direction. That shut him up.  
“I have my own shit to do. Don’t bother me.” And with that, the ram-horned man pushed himself up and hopped down from the beam. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked away, not looking back. Wilbur clenched his fists furiously. He was going to find out if it killed him; again.

Wilbur followed Quackity around L’Manberg again. It was late and the man had been out gathering wood in the nearby forest. He knew that he was collecting materials for tools, and that his chests were currently full of sharpened axes and sparkling swords. Wilbur slipped through the open crack in Quackity’s door, watching as the man shuddered uncomfortably as his grip on the wooden planks loosened. They fell with a hollow clatter to the stone ground, and Wilbur fought the urge to run as Quackity coughed. He sounded like he was going to retch, and the ghost nearly turned away. Suddenly, Quackity’s form shimmered and something seemed to step out of him. Quackity’s body fell onto the bed before them, and Schlatt stood over him, straightening his suit as he cleared his throat. Wilbur was afraid the living man was dead, but he began to snore and breathe steadily after a few moments.  
“Schlatt? What the fuck is going on?” Wilbur demanded, causing the other ghost to spin round with surprise etched across his face.  
“What? I’m working.” He quickly fumbled for an excuse, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Wilbur grabbed the collar of his shirt and slammed him into the wall.  
“Possession?! Are you a fucking demon?” Wilbur spat.  
“What’s it to you?” Schlatt struggled, growling.  
“You’re using him! That’s cruel!” The other tightened his grip.  
“Why?”  
“You treated him like shit when he worked with you. Leave the poor man alone, for fuck’s sake! Possession is just.. It seems wrong.” Schlatt raised an eyebrow.  
“You’ve treated people wrong in your life, Wilbur. Do you want me to list them for you?” He leaned in close.  
“Fundy, Tommy, Tubbo-” As Schlatt began to list the names off, Wilbur’s frown suddenly turned into one of fear. Some of these names were fuzzy, as if they were blurry in his mind. His expression must have changed because Schlatt trailed off. He tilted his head to one side as Wilbur released his grip on his shirt collar.  
“Wilbur?” The man took an unsteady step back, bringing a hand to his head.  
“Did you hear what I said?” Schlatt asked, a mocking tone in his voice.  
Wilbur trembled, trying to remember the names.  
“W.. Who?” The moment he uttered that word, Schlatt’s eyebrows raised.  
“You’re starting to forget, aren’t you?” Schlatt held his chest as he roared in laughter.  
“You’re trying to lecture me about how possession is wrong, when your own memories are fading!” He cackled. Wilbur’s memories were beginning to blur and he clutched his head with both hands as he desperately tried to hold onto the names and faces he once knew. Some events stuck out strongly in his head, but there were growing lapses in the timeline that Wilbur knew. As Schlatt’s laughter rung through his ears, Wilbur’s terror grew and grew in his gut; until finally, he didn’t remember what he was panicking about.


	12. Sally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur meets the love of his life, and together, they create a new one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pain,,,,

Wilbur sat on the beach, tilting his head back to warm his face with the rays of the sun. The smooth sand beneath him was comfortable and the cooling ocean waves that brushed his feet, doubled with the relaxing noises of nature, gave him a sense of calm. However, his contentment wasn’t only caused by his surroundings. He cracked an eye open and turned to his side, feeling his heart melt.  
Beside him, Sally lay. Her red hair fanned out around her head as she, too, lay in the sand. Her lips were curled upwards in a gentle smile and her diamond blue eyes were closed. Sleeping upon her chest, rising and falling with the rhythm of her breathing, lay their son. The little fox baby clung to their mother. Their velvet-soft ears twitched softly, and Wilbur watched as their fluffy little tail bristled in the gentle breeze. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his child’s head, unable to hold back the wide smile of pride as they sniffled and yawned cutely in their sleep.  
Fundy was only a few weeks old, and already Wilbur wasn’t sure he could love him any more than he already did. His waking moments were spent with his child, due to the reality that Fundy wasn’t old enough to swim yet, nor a water-dwelling creature. Sally stayed with them in Wilbur’s home, despite the fact she didn’t like being away from her community for long.  
She was a forest-spirit and lived amongst the salmon mermaids. She could change her coral coloured tail into legs with ease, but her home was in the water. Both Wilbur and Sally knew they didn’t have long together. Sally’s community was unsettled by the new population of people and creatures settling by the docks, and planned to leave for a new home. Sally had to go with them, but before she did, she wanted to spend every day with her lover and child.  
“Wilbur. Wiiiilbur..” Wilbur was snapped out of his thoughts by Sally’s soft voice. Her eyes were open now, sparkling with adoration.  
“You were staring again.” She chuckled. The action caused her chest to jostle, and Fundy whined in annoyance at being woken up. The baby began to sniff and his now-open eyes grew wet. Sally shuffled until she was sat up and wrapped her arms around the infant. She gently rocked him before he could begin to wail, gaze focused on her furry child with so much love that Wilbur thought his heart would burst. Fundy settled back into slumber fairly quickly, nestling into his mother’s grasp with a gentle sigh. Wilbur rested his head atop Sally’s, breathing deeply and moving one of his wings around her. She leaned against him in response. The two were silent, basking in their love of each other and their child.  
The silence couldn’t last forever, unfortunately, and Sally had to be the one to break it.  
“We’re leaving in 2 days.” Her voice was sad, a somber contrast to her loving tone only a few minutes earlier. Wilbur blinked, struggling to find the words to reply with.  
“Are.. Are you sure you can’t stay? I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll have a place in my new nation. We can watch Fundy grow up together. We can-” Sally hushed him with a warm kiss to his cheek. She looked up at him, eyes brimming with despair.  
“I can’t leave my community. You know I love you, and you know I love Fundy. I love you both more than words can express, but I just.. can’t leave them behind.” She sighed in defeat.  
Wilbur nodded slowly. His heart, full of love and pride only a few minutes ago, began to crack as the reality of the situation sank in.  
“What will I do without you?” He murmured. Sally gave him a sad smile.  
“You’ll watch over our child. You’ll raise them in your new country, and they’ll grow into someone with the capacity to love and provide happiness to everyone they meet.”  
“But, what if I can’t do it alone?” Wilbur fretted suddenly. Sally’s hand found his, and their fingers entangled.  
“I know you can. And you have a brilliant support network. Your father, your brothers, your friends. You’re stronger than you think, Wilbur. Never forget that.” Sally leaned up and pressed her lips to his.  
“I’ll never forget you, and I will always love you. Both of you.” Fundy wriggled as if attempting to join the conversation, reaching his tiny clawed hands out with a whimper towards Wilbur. Sally transferred the baby into Wilbur’s arms, embracing both of them before reluctantly shuffling backwards towards the water.  
“I’ll visit before I leave. I promise. We can meet by the docks, where we first met.” Sally smiled. Wilbur forced a smile in response.  
“I’ll see you there.”

That night, as Wilbur lay in bed with his child wrapped in his right wing beside him, he couldn’t sleep. His mind flooded with now-bittersweet memories of when he and Sally first met. Wilbur was new to this land and had come to join his youngest brother, Tommy, who had moved here a number of weeks earlier. He had been out exploring one day and came across the docks. He hadn’t looked where he was going and stepped on a broken plank of wood on the furthest pier. When he plunged into the water, wings growing heavier and heavier, he thought this was it. Was this how he would die? As he tried to swim up, his energy was sapped by the chilling water. He opened his eyes to see the sunlight for the last time; but instead he came face to face with a creature. The figure had the tail of a salmon, hair as red as brick, and eyes as blue as the most beautiful gemstone. Wilbur genuinely thought he was dying, and this was an angel coming to collect him, but when her strong arms wrapped around his frame and dragged him up to the surface, he realised he was very much still alive. The woman patted the space on his back between his soaking wet wings as he coughed up seawater, helping him onto a stable part of the docks. When he finally recovered, Wilbur wiped his eyes and took his first good look at his saviour.  
After that, he and Sally had begun to meet up more and more often. Tommy had found him sneaking away once, and laughed at him for having a girlfriend. Wilbur tackled him to the ground and the two wrestled as Sally laughed at the show. She was kind, considerate, beautiful.. Wilbur often found himself getting lost in her eyes.  
The two were perfect for each other. Their hands fit together as if they were sculpted with the other in mind. Sally’s calmness levelled Wilbur’s impulsive anger, but her fury was as red as her hair and Wilbur found that his rather relaxed nature helped to soothe her. When Wilbur had a problem, she would suggest ways to fix it. When she was stressed, he would take her to places to take her mind off whatever was bothering her.  
When the topic of a child was brought up, the pair instinctively knew how to create a new life. Their hands linked and their foreheads touched. Focusing their energies on each other, wisps of power swirled and circled around them, collecting into a ball of light above their heads. When it was complete, Wilbur stumbled backwards, dizzy from the power that had been drained from him. He had combined his energy with Sally; how the hell did Phil do it by himself? His daze was broken at the gentle wail of a child. His heart thumped louder than it ever had, and he opened his eyes to see an equally exhausted Sally reaching out to the ball of light. The shine faded and a small bundle of amber sank into Sally’s arms. She looked up at Wilbur, pride glittering in her eyes. Wilbur took the first look at his child and in that moment, he swore his heart could never be more full.  
Now, as he lay in bed with the creation of joy clutching onto his wing feathers, tears pricked his eyes. He would miss Sally with his entire being.

Finally, the day came. Wilbur dressed Fundy in some comfortable clothing and carried him in his arms out of his tent and towards the docks. Each step felt heavier than the last, and his heart cracked with each movement he made. Sally was there already, her auburn hair swept to one side in the wind. Her tail dipped into the water, creating ripples in the ocean surface. As if she knew they were already here, she turned to face Wilbur. Smiling, she shuffled over to make room for him. The little family embraced for one last time, sharing murmurs of love and memories that both would remember for the rest of their lives. Finally, the sun began to set and the sky faded into a warm glow of amber. Sally pressed one final kiss to Wilbur’s lips, held her child in her arms for the last time, and dove into the water. Her heart was breaking as she swam towards her awaiting community, but she knew she couldn’t have stayed. Wilbur’s eyes fixed on the group of spirits on the horizon until they were tiny specks. And then.. they were gone. Tears welled in his eyes and he held Fundy close to his chest as he sobbed.


	13. Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur does his best to remember the people he forgot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for 2k+ hits!! I love writing and coming up with new things for this AU, so feel free to suggest things in the comments or follow me on Twitter @roserocks_art! <3

As the sun hung high in the sky, Wilbur floated through the newly built area of L’Manberg. His grey, translucent hand brushed against the soft cloth of the flags that swayed in the wind from where they were pinned to wooden stalls beside the podium area. His eyes gazed across the unfamiliar landscape, watching people bustle by. Despite being a ghost, Wilbur found that people could still see and hear him. Many acted surprised, claiming that they couldn’t see him after his death. Wilbur only shrugged. He didn’t really remember much about the time after he died. There were some blurry memories, but the fuzz and static hurt his head, and he chose to ignore them.

He didn’t remember a lot about the land he was in, or the people that populated it. There was a funeral held a number of days ago for a strange looking man who had curled ram horns on his head. Wilbur lingered nearby, hoping to catch a glimpse of the spirit of the man, but he never saw him. It didn’t bother him though. He had found new things to fill his time with.

In the little hollowed out area of the sewers below a water tower he had built, Wilbur began a little library. He would spend his free time wandering the houses and castles nearby, scouring barrels and chests for books. When he found one, he clutched it close to his ghostly form as if it would be ripped from him. Each book felt precious; they were written about times that Wilbur no longer knew about. Something about that made them special to him. Perhaps they could help him jog his memory.

Wilbur began writing his own book. He titled it “What I Remember”, and he sat for hours in agonising silence trying to pick out memories and wipe the dust off of them. Some came to him quickly, like events from his childhood or big moments in his life. His younger brother, Technoblade. A friend who smelled of bread and cake and always wore a warm smile. The velvety fur of his baby son and a woman with long red hair.  
Other memories arrived to hit him like a brick wall, causing the ghost to shudder and wrap his blackened wings around himself. The deafening boom of an explosion. Cold, stone walls that towered upwards into darkness. The blossoming pain of a sword through his chest, coupled with the broken murmurs of his father as he was held. The cold. He was so cold.

When Wilbur wasn’t writing or stealing books, he walked. He explored the land and spoke to the people. He chatted to Tubbo as the new president bustled around with materials and building plans. The young boy always wore a bright smile on his face despite the burn marks and scars littering his skin. His eyes held knowledge and sadness that made Wilbur want to throw his arms around him and tell him he would be alright. But, that didn’t seem like something he would have done when he was alive, so he held back.

Tommy was often around too. Wilbur noticed the faint outline of a large animal trotting after him from time to time. As he got closer, the patched coat of a cow was more and more visible to him. Tommy never noticed the cow that followed him and refused to talk to Wilbur about what had happened to it. Eventually, Wilbur learned that the cow’s name was Henry, and that he had been Tommy’s companion in life.  
“Hey Tommy!” Wilbur called one day, before spotting the cow laying on the grass beside him.  
“Hiya Henry.” The ghost smiled, crouching down to pet the animal, who made a small ‘moo’ in greeting. Tommy froze from where he was stood.  
“Henry? How do you know that name?”  
“Oh!” Wilbur grinned. “This cow keeps following you around and I learned his name was Henry.”  
Tommy’s expression shifted slightly from shock to sadness. His eyes welled with tears, but before any could fall, he quickly wiped them away and continued to talk about his plans. Wilbur picked up on the tremble in his brother’s voice and the quiver of his yellow wings, but didn’t bring it up.

Wilbur was working on the lanterns he had created one night, when he felt a presence move beside him. He looked up to see Fundy stood there. The fox watched him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. Wilbur felt his heart jump with joy. He dropped the lantern he was crafting and moved to give his child a hug.  
“Oh, Fundy! You’ve grown so much! You look so handsome, and your uniform fits you perfectly!” Wilbur beamed, meeting his son’s gaze as he got closer.  
“Your eyes still look like hers.” Fundy jerked away at that statement, ears flattened against his head with a growl. Wilbur stumbled, quickly regaining his balance with a look of confusion plastered across his face.  
“Fundy..?”  
“Just, shut up, okay?” The fox’s tail bristled angrily.  
“You can’t just do that! You can’t say shit like that to me.” He glared at Wilbur. “It’s not fair. You don’t get to die and forget all the fucked up shit that happened.”  
Wilbur faltered.  
“But.. but you’re my little boy-“  
“I’m not little anymore.” Fundy snapped. “I’ve been through so much. You’ve treated me like shit.” He sniffed, eyes growing wet.  
“You told me you hated me.”  
Wilbur froze. Did he say that? That didn’t sound like him; but then again, his alive self had done some terrible things. Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around his son.  
“You’re my child. How could I ever hate you?” He murmured. Fundy’s tense shoulders sank, and his form shook softly. Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around his father’s ghost and melted into the embrace.

Wilbur often saw his own father working on L’Manberg. The winged man spent hours each day collecting materials and building a home up from the ground; or rather, stilts that suspended the city above the large crater. Phil didn’t seem startled when Wilbur first approached him. His eyes were round and full of regret when he looked at him. Wilbur folded his black wings against his back, trying to spark up a conversation. Eventually, Phil cracked a smile and the two were able to chat like old times, before Wilbur and his brothers had moved away.  
He knew that his father felt guilt for killing him, but Wilbur had moved on from it.  
“People like me a lot more when I’m dead.” He murmured once, sitting atop a chest while Phil placed windows inside his new living space.  
“Well.. you’re a lot less chaotic. I’ll tell you that.” He chuckled in response. Wilbur smiled. That was good.

Wilbur had reconnected with everyone he once knew, and met people he didn’t. Except for one man. Technoblade. He couldn’t find his brother anywhere. He searched underground, above ground, in tall towers and deep oceans. He pondered asking Phil, but his father didn’t want to talk about it much. Wilbur’s frustrations grew alongside his sadness. He wanted to see his brother again. He wanted to talk for hours with him, ask him questions, give him a hug. He remembered so little about how they interacted after they went their separate ways, and the ghost missed him dearly. The coldness of his soul prevented him from even considering the frozen outdoors, so Wilbur could only hope the pink-haired man hadn’t ventured there. As he gazed into the night sky, his eyes settled on the moon. Perhaps his brother was looking at the same thing.

Techno sighed, his breath collecting in a cloud before disappearing into the sky. He broke his gaze away from the moon, turning to venture back to his new base. His pink wing feathers were dappled white with snow that had fallen during the day, and he shook them off as he spread them. Bracing himself, he launched into the air, catching the breeze and soaring towards his newly built home. As he landed a few minutes later, his eyes stopped on a mound of snow and dirt beside a stone he had etched himself.  
It read ‘Wilbur Soot. RIP Brother.’ Techno mourned Wilbur’s death each day, unable to share his grief. He was truly and utterly alone, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Not anymore.


	14. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo never knew if he ever had a family, but when strange changes begin to occur to him, he finds out the harsh truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! There’s a bit of young Tubbo fluff, but like most of my writing, it ends in angst :’)  
> Feel free to theorise and suggest headcanons in the comments!

Tubbo didn’t remember his family. For all he knew, he didn’t have one. Before Tommy and his family found him on the side of an empty road, all he had were blurry memories of blue eyes and echoing voices. Then he blinked and a warm force collided with him. He still remembered the softness of the grass and how he clutched his bee plushie as he and Tommy rolled down the hill. He was only young then. Phil guessed he was the same age as Tommy, which at the time was 4 years old. Phil took Tubbo in and he joined the Sleepy family. He didn’t have the familial and brotherly bond like Tommy, Wilbur, Techno and Phil had, but he grew very close to all of them, and that was enough.

Growing up, Tubbo and Tommy were inseparable. The blonde boy would often drag Tubbo out to the nearby woodland with him, his little yellow wings flapping excitedly behind him.  
“Let’s practise flying again!” He exclaimed with a large grin, and Tubbo held onto his bee plush with a happy nod. Wilbur was able to fly without help at the age of 14, and Techno was 10 when he got the hang of it. Tommy took a little longer, however. So, each day, Tubbo helped Tommy to learn. The two would go to the woods, Tubbo standing at the base of a tree whilst Tommy climbed to the highest branches. The young boy would jump with his wings outstretched, furiously flapping them. Sometimes, he would fall and Tubbo would do his best to catch him; which almost always resulted in the boys collapsing into a pile of leaves and moss they had made to soften the fall. And sometimes, Tommy would nearly fly. His wings would catch the air just right, and he would glide gently around the clearing. The second he noticed, however, he would get excited and lose his concentration, causing him to fall to the ground with a thump. He was steadily making progress though, and Tubbo felt his happiness grow every time his friend succeeded. Sometimes there would be a little thought in the back of his mind, bitter that he didn’t fit into the family due to his lack of wings, but he always swiftly pushed it away.

Tubbo’s fascination for bees never seemed to waver throughout his life. When Phil found a beehive beginning to take form on a tree beside the Sleepy family’s house, Tubbo was ecstatic. The winged father had been planning to take it down, but his heart softened at the sight of Tubbo’s glee, and he instead built a little fence around the tree. He planted flowers and surprised Tubbo with the little enclosure when he came back from sparring with the others. The young boy took it upon himself to care for the bees, befriending them and collecting honey for the family with kind murmurs and warm smiles.

When Tommy and Tubbo were both 16, Tommy brought up the topic of moving to Tubbo. With a smile, he nodded.  
“Wherever you go, I’ll go!” He promised, and Tommy’s smile was so large that it reached his eyes and more. Within a week, the two boys packed up and left. Phil gave them both a huge bear hug, making them swear to write regularly and visit him whenever they could. And with that, the two boys set off for new land. Wilbur came to join them shortly afterwards, and L’Manberg was born in a matter of months.

Throughout the conflict and events that shaped the land he lived in, Tubbo found his mind wandering to his origins more and more frequently. Where had he come from? Who was his true family? Of course, he was forever grateful to Phil and Tommy for taking him in; without them he’d surely be dead. But every time that he saw Phil and his sons together, wings connecting them all through more than blood, Tubbo couldn’t help but feel like an outcast. Hell, he didn’t even know if he was human. His ears had begun to grow fuzzy since moving to the new land, and his senses seemed more sharp than before. When Wilbur brought his child to L’Manberg for the first time, tears staining his face as he told the others how his lover had left, Tubbo pondered if he was possibly a forest-spirit. After all, little Fundy had animal traits. Perhaps returning to his home-land was triggering a change in his form?

Then, the election took place. A new face showed up in L’Manberg, and the second Tubbo met the newcomer’s gaze, something struck inside of him. Schlatt smiled down at the boy, a sinister glint in his eyes. A few days later, Schlatt won. The ram-horned man banished Wilbur and Tommy, and Tubbo watched helplessly as he was torn from his best friend for the first time since they met. He felt a sense of utter loneliness settle in his gut, and all he wanted to do was curl up and grieve. But Schlatt wouldn’t allow it. He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, pressing a suit and red tie into his trembling hands.  
“My right hand man, hm?” He prompted. Tubbo could only numbly nod and move uncomfortably to change out of his revolution clothes into the new business suit.

As Tubbo grew more accustomed to his new role, more and more changes began to occur. It was almost as if Schlatt’s arrival was quickening the transformation. First, his fuzzy ears grew into velvety soft sheep’s ears. His hearing sensitivity increased alongside this. Then, a stubby, fluffy tail sprouted from his lower back. If Tubbo wasn’t so startled, he would have found it rather cute.  
Whenever he went to visit Tommy, Wilbur, and Techno in Pogtopia, he did his best to hide his ears and tail. Seeing Tommy made his tail wag like a dog’s, which unfortunately for him, quickly outed his new growths to his friend.  
“You’ve got a tail! And ears!” Tommy kept his voice to a hushed whisper, but his eyes were wide in shock. Tubbo’s ears flattened.   
“I know, I know. I don’t know why this started happening!” He murmured.  
“Is it because of.. you know.. him?” Tommy asked. The thought had crossed Tubbo’s mind before. Had he been cursed by the ram-horned president himself? Schlatt had only been kind to him, protecting him from any attacks or nightly creatures that lunged at him with bared teeth. He had even stood up for the young boy when Quackity lightly teased him. Tubbo knew the duck-winged VP was only joking, but something about Schlatt’s behaviour around him seemed to be more than just mentor protectiveness. Tubbo shrugged the thought off, shaking his head to Tommy.

Then, his horns began to grow. At first, it was just little nubs forming beneath the skin on his skull. But within weeks, they were beginning to creep through his hair. Tubbo gathered his courage and confronted Schlatt about it, even daring to ask if he was, in fact, cursed. Schlatt only gave him a knowing smile and ruffled his hair fondly.  
“No, my boy. It’s about time they started to grow in.” And with that, the conversation topic swiftly changed to discuss the upcoming festival that Schlatt had proposed for Manberg.

We all know how the festival occurred. The story has been told hundreds of times. Tubbo was instructed to display his horns proudly and to keep his ears pricked forwards. Schlatt grinned at him before his speech, their identical blue eyes meeting. Tubbo performed his speech, was trapped in the concrete box, and faced Technoblade’s firework crossbow. However, before the pig warrior could pull the trigger, Schlatt leaned in.  
“There’s something you should know before you die, Tubbo.” He murmured, loud enough for Tubbo to hear but no one else. With that, Schlatt whispered four words that would change Tubbo’s life. He stumbled back, pressing his hands against the sides of the box to steady himself. He struggled to process it. No, no, this couldn’t be the truth. Surely not-  
And then Technoblade fired.


	15. Guilt and Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil regrets killing Wilbur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst! Enjoy! :’D  
> Also, I was in Wilbur’s stream this week! I was RosePocky, the character with the nonbinary hoodie and TV head! I was so close to winning the event :’D

The moment he slid the blade smoothly between Wilbur’s ribs, Phil knew he would regret this. As his son smiled up at him with blood bubbling from his lips, he knew he would never be able to forget this. Phil dropped the sword with a harsh clatter to the cold stone ground, and caught Wilbur in his arms as he began to lose his balance. Tears pricked his eyes and his vision grew blurry, so much that he could barely make out the form of his son before him. Phil extended his large grey wings and wrapped them around Wilbur as he held his head close to his chest. Before long, Wilbur’s shuddering breaths slowed to a halt, and the shivering of his body stopped. Phil felt his heart break and a deep, uncomfortable rock settled in his gut. He didn’t get the chance to properly grieve in the moment, however, as Techno summoned multiple withers upon the horrified crowd in the newly formed crater. Phil sighed, gently setting Wilbur’s body on the ground. His red wings, stained dark with blood and ash, fanned around his form. One could say he almost looked like an angel. Phil didn’t have long to jump into action, wiping his eyes with his sleeve and launching himself into the air at the wither creatures.

Techno was able to escape with the fleeing crowd, blending in and using his trident powers to propel himself far, far away. Phil had a feeling he knew where his son would hide, but he reserved that knowledge for later. Now, he had his youngest son to greet.  
The horror of what he had done only began to completely settle in when he was reuniting with Tommy and Tubbo. Tommy wrapped his arms around his father, biting his bloody lip in an effort to hold back tears while his yellow wings quivered on his back. Tubbo, whose appearance had changed quite a bit since the last time they saw each other, pricked his sheep-like ears forward and rushed to meet Phil. Tubbo had been raised by Phil for most of his life, and despite the fact that he wasn’t his biological father, the winged man was the closest thing he considered as a true father.  
Embracing both boys in his arms, Phil knelt down to allow their shaking legs and tired limbs to rest. They both collapsed against him, clutching his jacket as if he were a lifeline. Phil held them both tight.  
“Shh.. it’s all alright now. You’re both safe.” He hushed, rubbing Tubbo’s back comfortingly as the horned-boy began to sniffle. Tommy nodded with a small smile, tears filling his eyes. Then, the question came.  
“Phil? Where’s Wilbur?”  
Phil felt the void in his chest open up once more, and his throat closed up.  
“He.. he’s gone..” Tommy recoiled, shaking his head slowly.  
“No.. no, he isn’t. He’s just missing. He’ll have run somewhere. He’s hiding.” As Tommy backed away, Tubbo looked up at Phil and reached up to shakily wipe away a tear that had begun to stream down his face.   
“He’s dead.. I’m.. I’m so sorry..” Phil choked on a sob. He only now realised that his sleeves and jacket were stained red with blood. Tommy and Tubbo put two and two together, and the silence was deafening. Tommy reacted first, anger coursing through his veins. He lashed his wings, looking around wildly. His eyes settled on the lump of brown and red cloth on the edge of the rock where the button room once was, and he screamed. Tommy still wasn’t the best at flight, especially not while emotional, and so he half-flew half-climbed up to his oldest brother’s body. Burying his face in Wilbur’s chest and gripping his jacket with bloodied and cut hands, Tommy wailed in grief. Phil could only watch with complete and utter sadness. Getting to his feet with a small stumble, he looked down at Tubbo. The president and war veteran suddenly looked very, very small. He was frozen on the ground, clutching the base of Phil’s jacket as tears dripped down his cheeks. Phil leaned down and picked him up, carrying him against his chest as if he were still the 4 year-old he found all those years ago. He made sure to not brush his horns or ears with his hand, not wanting to startle the shocked teen. Gliding towards Tommy, he settled Tubbo down and gathered the broken remains of his family together. He wrapped his large wings around them all, and they mourned.

When Wilbur first showed up, Phil almost expected it. He had known that their kind wouldn’t simply vanish into the afterlife. What he didn’t expect, however, was how Wilbur’s wings had turned black from the corruption he experienced in life. He didn’t expect Wilbur to have lost all his bad memories. And, in turn, he didn’t expect Wilbur to remember his death. The two spent time together, with Phil’s regret only increasing as he listened to Wilbur talk about the people he had once known as if they were complete strangers.

The dark pit of guilt in his stomach grew after he read ‘What I Remember’.  
Wilbur remembered his death. But he only remembered good things.. it didn’t add up. Eventually, the realisation hit Phil hard, causing him to shoot up into a sitting position as he choked on a sob.  
Wilbur must have been so hysterical after pressing the button and blowing up L’Manberg that his twisted, twisted mind recognised his death as good. Wilbur died with a smile because he knew it was good.


	16. True Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Schlatt is disturbed by a knock on his door one night, his life changes. For better or worse, that is unclear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The secret is out! Enjoy!

When the doorbell rang, Schlatt groaned. It was nearly 6pm on a rainy, winters evening, and he was up doing paperwork. A cigar hung out one side of his mouth, smoke swirling upwards in grey wisps past the curled ram horns. Lifting a hand, he removed the cigar from his mouth, upturning it and crushing the lit end in the nearly full ashtray that lay on his desk. He stood up and walked towards the door as the knocking sounded again. He grit his teeth, ear twitching.  
“For fucks sake, you don’t have to knock so much-“ He swung the door open and stopped in his tracks.  
Before him stood a woman. Her eyes were round and sad and her hair was wet from the rain, hanging in front of her face as she stared up at him. The goat man recognised her as someone he had dated briefly a number of months ago. It had been a little fling, something to fill his time with before he got bored and moved on. Schlatt opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing there, but was interrupted by a cry. The woman’s eyes shot down to the bundle that she was carrying in her arms; which Schlatt only just noticed. The cocoon of blankets wriggled and two tiny hands reached out towards her. She hushed it, cooing gently as it wailed. Looking back up at Schlatt, she looked hopeless.  
“Schlatt, I know we stopped talking but.. he..” She held out the bundle nervously.  
“Your son.”  
The words hit the businessman like a brick wall. Son? He had a son? He frowned, reaching forward and taking the baby in his arms. He looked down at the child, ears pricked forwards in interest. He was small, with little tufts of brown hair that was identical to his own. The infant’s eyes opened slowly and Schlatt’s blue gaze reflected in the boy’s.  
“What’s his name?” He asked, looking back to the woman.  
“Tubbo.” She clasped her hands together, taking a nervous step forwards.  
“Look, I know we broke up and we have our differences.. and I know you’re very busy.. but I’m all alone. I only have Tubbo. I can’t raise him alone; I want to come back. The boy- our boy needs a father.” She pleaded.  
Schlatt raised an eyebrow.  
“I agree. He does need a father.”  
The woman’s eyes lit up.  
“But he doesn’t need a mother.” Schlatt’s expression suddenly soured and he took a harsh step forward, causing the woman to flinch and stumble back.  
“Wait!-“ Before she could properly react, the door was slammed in her face. The loud noise set Tubbo off again, and the baby wailed in discomfort. The woman banged against the door, slamming it with her fists and sobbing for Schlatt to let her in and to give her son back. The goat man simply ignored her, turning the locks and walking back to his room.

Tubbo and his father were very different. As a half-human half-goatman hybrid, he didn’t have the horns, tail or ears that Schlatt did. As he grew up and learned to speak, to walk, and to do basic toddler things, fuzzy brown tufts began to grow on the tips of his ears. Schlatt felt a small pulse of pride then; his boy was finally going to look like his dad.

Schlatt hired a nanny to care for the boy as an infant. He simply didn’t have the time to work and look after him. He would occasionally go and visit his son’s room and buy him plush toys, but he didn’t want to get involved. He found he didn’t feel as much affection for his son as one would have expected. In the blink of an eye, Tubbo was turning 4. The once peaceful baby was now a wandering child, pestering and chatting. It irritated Schlatt to the point where he felt he wanted to tear his ears off. Tubbo would run through the halls, chasing after his father. He’d tug on his horns, watch his ears twitch with interest, and mess up his paperwork with crayon drawings of bees.  
One day, Schlatt snapped. He never wanted this. He never asked for this. He never wanted Tubbo. So, one night, he created a potion. Schlatt rarely dabbled in potion-making; retrieving the ingredients would mean getting his hands dirty, and he didn’t want that. But he was so, so utterly done with this infant. Crafting a potion of weakness, he poured it into the child’s evening glass of milk. Watching Tubbo slowly drift to sleep, he retrieved a box. He lifted the child, holding him in his arms for the last time. To anyone else, that would make them feel emotional, make them regret their decision. But Schlatt didn’t care. Even when Tubbo mumbled and buried his face into his father’s chest, he grimaced and set the child down in the box. He was clutching his favourite plushie, a little bee. Schlatt didn’t care enough to remove it, carrying the box outside. He walked, eyes narrowed and focused on the road ahead. When he spotted a nearby field, he set the sleeping child down. It was night-time now; Schlatt hoped that one of the evening’s deadly creatures would come across the boy and kill him quick. Schlatt could have done it himself but, after all, he didn’t want to get his hands dirty.  
Casting one last hateful look at the boy, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Over a decade later, Schlatt received a letter from an old friend. Wilbur was holding an election in his new nation, and wanted Schlatt to endorse him. The goat man scoffed, but the thought of an election interested him greatly. By the end of the day, he had packed his belongings and set off for the new land. When he arrived, Wilbur excitedly introduced him to everyone. Tommy, his little brother, seemed happy to have him there. Quackity, the leader of the opposing party, shook his hand with a large smile. Then, Tubbo stepped up. He held his hand out to Schlatt with a wide grin.  
“Hi! I’m Tubbo.” Schlatt stopped in his tracks. He stared at the boy. His son. Many questions ran through his mind, but he shoved them aside and gave Tubbo a friendly smile.  
“Tubbo. Nice to meet you.” He reached out, and shook his hand. 

“The winner of the election is Schlatt2020.” Wilbur’s disappointed voice rang out across the crowd. Schlatt felt a surge of success and he clapped Quackity on the back in triumph. He proceeded to rise to the podium, swear himself in as the new president, and banish Wilbur and Tommy. Amongst the panic of the crowd, Schlatt spotted Tubbo looking around helplessly. He smiled.  
“Tubbo, why don’t you come up here?” He grinned. Tubbo’s head snapped round and he looked up at the man with uncertainty. Schlatt already knew that he was the only one with the knowledge that he was his father, and he found the similarities between himself and Tubbo rather amusing. Now, as his son stood beside him, they looked alike.

Tubbo’s goat features began to grow in quickly as he began to work with Schlatt. The goat man suspected that the mere presence of being near his own kin after so long was triggering the change, and he felt pride swell in his chest with each day. First, Tubbo’s already fuzzy ears grew out. Then the little nubs of horns beneath his hair started to grow and poke through. He even grew a little tail, similar to Schlatt’s.  
The president treated his son with kindness, happy to have his son beside him again. Perhaps this time, he would grow to love him.

That would never happen. Schlatt discovered that Tubbo was working against him, and all the pride and joy he had previously felt towards his son was replaced with white-hot rage. He slammed his fist against a wall, throwing an empty bottle to the ground and watching the shards scatter around the room. His chest heaved and he leaned against his desk as he forced himself to calm down. Tubbo would pay for this. He should have killed the child himself when he had the chance all those years ago. A sadistic thought wriggled its way into Schlatt’s brain and his mouth curled into a grin. A festival. He would hold a festival. He’d make Tubbo decorate it, and then execute him in front of everyone. His son would be made an example of, and Schlatt could hardly wait.

The day of the festival arrived, and Tubbo finished his speech atop the stage in front of everyone. Schlatt stood beside him, glancing at the crowd below. Quackity stood on another side, completely oblivious to his plans. The moment Tubbo was done, Schlatt calmly pulled out a number of concrete blocks, placing them around the chair in which his son stood against. His ears pricked at the confused noises of the people stood watching and his smile only grew.  
Finally, he drew back and outed Tubbo for everything he had done. His voice rang through the land, laced with rage.  
“Hey Technoblade, why don’t you come and do the honours.” His voice settled back down to a calming tone, inviting the confused pig warrior to the stage. Techno climbed up, fumbling with his firework crossbow and aiming it at Tubbo’s terrified face. Before he could fire, however, Schlatt held up a hand.  
“Before you shoot..” He leaned forward, the curled horns framing his head brushing against Tubbo’s brown hair. Grinning, Schlatt whispered.  
“I’m your true father.”  
And with that, he stood back, and Techno fired.


	17. Piglin’s Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Techno and Wilbur venture into Phil’s basement without his knowledge, they make a discovery that changes Techno’s life.

“Will, we really shouldn’t be down here!” Techno hissed under his breath. The two brothers had been left alone in the house while their father was outside farming carrots for that night’s dinner. He had taken Tommy with him, the infant in a makeshift harness wrapped around his back. Wilbur hopped down the stairs, flapping his wings to slow his fall and neatly landing on his feet.  
“It’ll be fine!” He grinned. “What? Are you scared?” The older boy tainted his younger brother, causing Techno to huff and push his glasses further up his nose. His pink wings flicked indignantly.  
“No. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to snoop through Dad’s things without his permission.” Techno crept down the stairs after Wilbur. “He always tells us not to touch his adventuring stuff.”  
Wilbur scoffed, turning his back to his brother and rifling through some of the dusty barrels.

The basement was deep underground in the house, only accessible through a series of redstone-powered doors that Phil had set up. He had warned his boys to never enter the room, as it contained many dangerous items he had obtained during his days of adventuring before becoming a father. Phil didn’t have many strict rules in his household, but the basement was the one he emphasised the most. And, of course, Wilbur decided he wanted to go see it.

Techno stumbled behind Wilbur, arms wrapped around his torso from the chill of the stone room. Wilbur, however, didn’t seem to notice the cold as his eyes scanned the area with interest and mischief.  
“What sort of things do you think Dad has in here? Test experiments? Magic stuff?” The 9 year-old wondered aloud. Techno followed him, wincing whenever his older brother dug his hand into a barrel or chest.

“Can we just get out of here-“  
“Woah!” Techno’s concerned voice was interrupted as Wilbur clambered up a ladder to reach a large chest tucked into a groove of the wall. He pushed it open, wings outstretched behind him for balance. Techno’s eyes widened as Wilbur pulled out a giant sword. It was mostly red, with veins of gold streaked through it. He squinted, noticing the gold was pulsing with light. Strange inscriptions were carved into the blade, and it reminded the boy of the lettering that he had noticed was scribbled in the book that sat atop the enchanting table that his father kept upstairs.

He could barely get another look before Wilbur tried to climb back down the ladder with it. The sword was obviously heavier than Wilbur expected, and his footing missed. His red wings flapped in a panic as he fell, clutching the blade with a hand as the other shot out to steady himself. Techno found himself in his brother’s path and held out his hands to try and catch him. Suddenly, the sword was far too close to his face and Techno could only squeeze his eyes shut and flinch backwards.

His glasses clattered to the ground, shattering on the stone floor. The room was silent, with Techno’s panicked breathing being the only sound. His eyes were still closed tightly, a pain blossoming across his face. Wilbur’s sharp gasp was what kept him focused on reality.  
“Oh god I- I didn’t mean to-“ The boy was cut off by the click of the door to the basement opening.  
“What are you doing in here?” Phil’s voice echoed through the room as he rushed forwards. Techno heard the rustle of feathers and the click of a chest, and he assumed his father must have taken the sword from Wilbur and placed it back in the chest. Warm hands placed themselves on his shoulders and Phil’s breath tickled his face.  
“Techno, can you open your eyes? Does it hurt too much?” Phil’s voice was gentle, but badly hid the worry in his tone. Techno was suddenly aware of the warm liquid rolling down his cheeks and over his lips, and after tasting it, he recognised the iron tang of blood. He cracked open his eyes and his father’s only widened.

Phil had noticed the slice across Techno’s face first; a neat, red line running from under his left eye, over the bridge of his nose, and ending under his right eye. Blood rolled down his face from it, which provided an unsettling sight. Next, he noticed Techno’s eyes. His son’s previously brown eyes were now a dark red, tinted with speckles of gold. Phil pulled the 6 year-old into a hug, brushing his hair gently with his fingers to calm him. He didn’t care about the blood that was staining his shirt.  
“I’m so glad it’s only a cut. It could have been much worse.” Phil shot a glance over his shoulder at Wilbur, who looked down in shame. His heart sank and he opened an arm to his eldest son; he hadn’t meant to be angry at him. Wilbur joined the hug with a worried expression.

After a few moments, Phil released the boys from his arms and sat down on the stone floor, patting the space in front of him for his sons to sit too. Tommy was still strapped to his back, fast asleep, and so he reached round and cradled the 1 year-old in his arms.  
“That sword wasn’t just a regular sword.” He murmured, passing Techno a cloth to hold on the bloody cut.  
“I found it in the Nether, while exploring a destroyed Bastion. There should have been Piglins protecting it, but there were none. The writing on the blade reads ‘Blood for the Blood God’.” Phil explained.  
“I’m not sure what it does, or what power it holds, but I know that it’s dangerous.” He looked at his sons, who were listening to him with wide eyes.  
“I didn’t want you coming down here for a reason. It’s not safe. I promise to show you these items one day, but only when you’re older. Can you promise me to stay away from the basement until then?”  
Both boys nodded vigourously. Wilbur’s eyes were wide in fear, while Techno’s red ones seemed entranced.

The changes began slowly. Techno’s bottom canine teeth began to grow a little bigger than what was normal, eventually developing into little tusks that stuck out of his mouth. His eyes went back to their regular colour, but turned red whenever blood was shed. His strength also seemed to increase, and his battle skills only enhanced. The scar across his nose never seemed to fully heal either, the skin refusing to cover it up and instead leaving the slice as a dark pink mark. Techno made himself a pig mask to cover his face and the scar, and seemed more comfortable while wearing it.

Once, while sparring with Wilbur as teenagers, Techno pinned his older brother down and didn’t seem to hear him when he cried for him to stop. Phil had had to intervene, stopping Techno from plunging his sword into his brother’s chest. He had cut his hand in the process of grabbing the blade to stop it from moving, but the look of utter power and need for blood in his son’s eyes scared him.  
Techno preferred to practise fighting alone from then on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some explanation for how Techno is powerful and has pig-like features! He still keeps his wings, don’t worry! This was inspired by a comic I've seen where Techno is cut by a sword that curses him, and another where he loses control while sparring with Wilbur! I don't remember the artists so if you know, feel free to comment the links and I can credit them!
> 
> Techno cut by sword comic: https://twitter.com/meekuart/status/1333123297131769857?s=21


	18. New Additions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking back into the past, we learn how Phil’s sons came to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ve had enough angst for now, here’s some fluff! Feel free to suggest some other topics or characters I should write about!
> 
> Follow me on Twitter @ roserocks_art! I’d love to chat!

Phil felt a portion of life drain from his chest and he heaved a loud, gasping breath. He stumbled back, the sudden lack of energy causing his head to go dizzy. His eyes were squeezed shut, but the glow of light that filtered through his eyelids told him that the experiment was a success. The winged man placed a hand on the tree beside him, using it to steady himself. He would’ve taken more time to collect his thoughts when a loud cry sounded from before him. Snapping open his eyes, his gaze softened.

Before him, floating on a bed of sparkles and glowing wisps, was a baby. Phil cautiously walked over to the infant. Reaching his arms out, his hands cut through the glowing energy and he watched in awe as it swirled and danced towards the baby’s chest, seeping into his skin before fading. The baby let out another wail, but seemed to calm once Phil touched him.

Phil brought the child, his child, closer, and cradled him against his chest. Reaching around, he grabbed the spare cloth he had brought with him and wrapped it around the infant to keep him warm. Little feathery wings in a soft red hue protruded from his back, folded tightly against his shoulder blades. Small tufts of brown hair speckled his head, and Phil couldn’t help but gently curl them round his fingertips. He held his son close, strange fatherly instincts already beginning to kick in. With a blooming love in his heart, he turned around and began to walk back to his home.  
“Hello, Wilbur.”

Phil had been alone for a long time. He lived and worked in complete isolation, with the exception of the few pets and animals he had scattered around his base. On his travels, he had learned of a way to create new life. It required giving up part of your life essence, but Phil loved experiments and decided to give it a go. At the same time, he realised how little he knew about parenting. He spent months preparing meals, rooms, toys, and more. When the day finally arrived, he created a son; Wilbur. In the moment he first laid eyes on his child, he knew he would love and protect the boy until the end of time.

The first few weeks with Wilbur were difficult to get used to. The baby, as most babies did, cried. He cried a lot, wailing deep into the hours of the night. Phil was sure that even the zombies and skeletons outside his base had been deterred by the noise. There were many sleepless nights that both Wilbur and Phil shared, and the tired father would often wake up the next afternoon sat on the floor beside Wilbur’s cot, with the infant curled up in his arms. 

After Wilbur seemed to slip into some sort of routine, Phil’s sleep schedule began to fix itself. He would hum tunes in the kitchen while he cooked as Wilbur crawled along the ground, chasing one of Phil’s cats. His wide brown eyes were full of wonder, looking up at his father with such adoration that Phil thought he might cry.  
Before long, Wilbur had turned 2. The toddler found a love for music when Phil handed him a little ukulele he had crafted. He didn’t understand how the chords or melodies worked, but it brightened Phil’s day to no end when he heard his son strumming the tightly bound strings of the instrument.

And then, Techno came along. Phil repeated the creation of Wilbur, and soon he returned home with another wailing infant in his arms. He didn’t want Wilbur to be alone, and felt a younger brother would be good for him. Phil wasn’t sure where the name Techno had come from, nor how the child began to grow long, pink hair, but he didn’t question it. Anything could happen when magic was involved. The father quickly realised that raising a toddler and a baby at the same time would be harder than he expected. Wilbur would cling to his father’s leg, mumbling questions or asking him to read him a night tale, while Techno would begin sniffling and fidgeting in his cot. Once more, a routine relaxed the small family, and Phil learned how to multitask with reading stories to Wilbur in one hand and feeding Techno with his bottle in the other.

When Tommy was created, Techno and Wilbur were a little older. The two chaotic brothers were excited for a new addition to the family, wings flapping excitedly. Tommy was much fussier than the other two had been as infants, but Phil found that his sons wanted to help out whenever the blonde baby began to wail. Wilbur was getting the hang of his ukulele (which Phil later upgraded into a guitar when the boy was strong enough to hold one), and learned a number of soothing tunes to strum to his younger brother when he started to cry. Techno enjoyed reading, and his gentle, steady voice would soon lull Tommy into sleep. One night, when Phil found himself cradling Tommy on the floor of his bedroom, as he had with the other two boys, he realised that Wilbur and Techno were both using him as a pillow. The soft snores of his three children sent a pulse of utter love streaking through his veins. They may be hard work, but he knew he would love them all forever.


	19. Just Like Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo exiles Tommy, and Fundy makes a painful comparison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attacks!

“You know what this is?!” Tubbo turned his gaze slowly towards Fundy, one of his ears twitching from the volume of his yell. The fox man’s fur was bristling, tail flicking agitatedly as his ears flattened against his head. His amber eyes were mere slits.  
“What?” Tubbo spoke, his voice level. As calm as he seemed, his hands were balled into fists in his pockets, nails digging into his palms and knuckles turned white from the force. It took every ounce of strength in him to not tremble with the pain that exiling his best friend was causing him.  
Fundy’s gaze met his.  
“You’re acting like Schlatt.”

The words felt like the fox had stalked over and punched him hard in the gut. Tubbo staggered back, nearly losing his footing on the edge of the tall, black, obsidian wall. His ears flattened and his blue eyes widened subconsciously. The boy barely heard any of what Fundy and Quackity said next, his vision phasing in and out of blurriness as his eyes wandered to see Tommy being harshly shoved out of L’Manberg by Dream. Quackity stepped forward, asking Tubbo something, but Tubbo didn’t hear. He waved a hand and mumbled some shit excuse for why he had to leave. He dropped down from the wall, wincing at the white-hot pain that shot through his ankles and knees when he landed on the ground. It took him a moment or two to drag himself back to his feet, and then he ran.

Tubbo wasn’t sure where he was running until he got there, stumbling and tripping over misplaced logs and holes in the wooden path from creeper explosions. When he reached the familiar bench outside Tommy’s house, he finally allowed himself to stop running. He pressed a hand to the back of the bench to steady himself. He suddenly became extremely aware of his ragged and uneven breathing, heaving gasps of air into his lungs as if it was the most difficult thing he had ever done. Tubbo half sat, half collapsed onto the bench, hunching over and hugging his knees. He was glad no one was around to see this; their President having a panic attack on a bench in the cold outdoors.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d had an attack like this. Shortly after the Festival, fireworks had been set off while he and Tommy were out collecting more wood for Pogtopia, and the mere sound of the explosions coupled with the bright, flashing lights had caused Tubbo to drop his logs and run. Tommy had followed and found him cowering beneath a tree with his hands over his ears and tears streaming down his face. His best friend had sat with him until he was calm enough to keep moving. After that, Tommy had attempted to ban fireworks from the entire land. After the war for L’Manberg recently, Technoblade firing at him and injuring him before summoning the Withers had triggered a similar attack.  
Fireworks had always been the cause of this, but now he was discovering a new one.

Tubbo flinched as he felt the base of his horns begin to tingle, as well as the tips of his ears. He curled up even more.  
“Stop it, stop it, stop it-“ He mumbled under his breath, fighting through sobs that threatened to break him down. It was as if his body was reminding him that he was related to *him*, that he was *his* son. He didn’t want to be like-

“Tubbo.” The President froze. He knew that voice. It sent a shiver up his spine and a terror that stabbed itself into his gut.  
“Tubbo. Look at me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest shuddering with muted sobs.  
“No, no, no, I don’t want to see you.” Tubbo responded weakly, his voice trembling.  
“Oh, come on. Don’t you want to see your dearly departed father?” Schlatt’s voice rang out unmistakably from behind him. Slowly, Tubbo began to turn around. His vision was obscured from the tears, but he could clearly see the form of Schlatt standing behind the bench. His arms were folded over his chest, his suit was ragged and messy, and blood dripped from his mouth and down his chin. He gave Tubbo a sickening grin.

“My, my.. you look more and more like your old man as every day goes by.” Schlatt cooed, taking a step forward. Tubbo staggered to his feet, backing away from the spectre.  
“Don’t.. don't say that.” Tubbo replied shakily. Schlatt only smiled.  
“Why not? You’re growing into a fine young President.” He walked closer.  
“You’re following my footsteps exactly. Banishing your friend was the best idea you’ve ever had.”  
Tubbo felt his back bump against the fence and he twisted his head round to look at the tall drop behind him.  
“Exiling Tommy wasn’t easy. I had to do what was best for the country!” He protested. He couldn’t move back any more, but Schlatt could move forward.

“I’m proud of you.” He spoke in such a sickeningly sweet tone that Tubbo wanted to gag.  
“I don’t want you to be proud of me. I don’t want anything to do with you!” He snapped, shouting at the ghostly figure with rage in his voice. Schlatt’s smile only grew, and Tubbo’s eyes widened in realisation.  
“See? You’re becoming like me without knowing it!” Schlatt cackled, more crimson liquid spilling from his mouth.  
“No! I’m not going to be like you!” Tubbo’s horns and ears tingled more and more intensely, to the point where it began to grow painful. Schlatt’s laughter echoed through the valley and pierced Tubbo’s head. The President covered his ears with his hands, clawing at his hair and choking back sobs in an effort to make it all stop. It was too much. It was too-

“Tubbo!” Another voice cut through the noise, and all of a sudden, Schlatt was gone. Tubbo felt a warm hand on his shoulder and he cracked open an eye to look at the figure before him. Sam stood there, pickaxe in one hand while the other rested on the boy. Although he wore a mask, similar to Dream and a few others, it was clear in his voice that he was concerned for his friend.  
“Are you okay? You’re standing way too close to the edge.” He continued speaking softly, coaxing Tubbo towards the bench and allowing the young President to sit down. Tubbo wasn’t sure how to react, tears continuing to spill from his eyes.  
Sam didn’t pressure him to talk, sitting beside him and rubbing comforting circles into his shoulder. Finally, Tubbo found his voice.

“Sam? I’m not.. I’m not like Schlatt, am I?” The man tilted his head to one side.  
“No. Not at all.”  
“But I exiled-“  
“You did the right thing.” Sam lifted a hand to hush him.  
“You thought through the situation properly and came to a logical conclusion. It wasn’t easy, but that’s what being President is all about.” Sam smiled beneath his mask.  
“You’re one of my best friends, Tubbo. I’ve known you for a while, and I know you’re nothing like Schlatt.”  
Tubbo looked down at his hands, staring at the bloody crescents pressed into his palms.  
“But I look like him. And he was my father..” He trailed off as another sob threatened to wash over him.  
“That may be true. But you’re different. You’re empathetic and kind; you don’t make angry, irrational decisions. Who cares if you’re related by blood? You don’t have to be like him.”  
Tubbo looked up at Sam, who smiled softly at him. The weight that had tangled in his chest began to loosen, and his lips curled upwards in a smile of his own. He didn’t have to be like Schlatt. He could be different from his father; and he’d be damned if he was remembered like him.


	20. Character Headcanons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some headcanons I have for the characters! Bit more of a chill update while I'm busy with uni ^^

I'm a tad busy with university work and deadlines, and I've had less time to work on this series! I'm also running out of chapter ideas, so here's some little things about the characters that I thought everyone would find fun to know! I'll update this chapter when I think of more tidbits of info! Feel free to suggest your own headcanons!

\- When with his kids, Phil is very careful whilst flying. He makes sure he has enough landing room, as to not risk harming the boys. However, when he's on his own and working on a build or doing something else alone, he's a tad more reckless. More often than not, he'll overestimate his landing skills and stumble on the ground, trip on the floor, or thwap into a wall.

\- When they were younger, people thought Wilbur and Techno were twins. Wilbur had a huge growth spurt in his early teens, making him taller than his brothers, but until then, he and Techno were the same height and both wore glasses. Also the fact Techno has pink hair.

\- Phil never officially adopted Tubbo, but Tubbo was basically another son to him. Tubbo has accidentally slipped up and called Phil 'Dad' multiple times, but Phil has also called him 'son' a number of times.

\- Tubbo and Tommy are best friends and were pretty much brothers for the most of their lives, but Tubbo does in fact have a biological brother.

\- Schlatt has multiple motives for possessing Quackity. One of them is to remain in some sort of power and get revenge, but also to keep an eye on his son and continue manipulating him. His son has escaped death from him twice, and Father Schlatt isn't happy about it.

\- Fundy's worry about where Sally is sparks a question in Tubbo; where's his mother? He cant even ask Schlatt about it, since his ghost hasn't shown up, and part of him feels empty for that. But the rest of him feels content in not knowing. He was brought up with Phil as his father figure and three brother figures and feels happy when he's with them.

\- Tubbo is reluctant to reveal that Schlatt was his father, even if it is kinda obvious with his horns, ears and tail. He prefers to shrug the question off, simply saying he has no connection to him anymore.

\- Now Schlatt is dead, Tubbo's goat-like growths aren't limited to only being 'activated' around him. His horns continue to slowly mature with him, catching up to how they should look at his age.

\- After Techno kills Quackity in the bunker after the Butcher Army attempt to execute him, Quackity has a scar running from over one eye down to his chin over his mouth. This has damaged his vision in that eye, and the scar over the mouth is a reference to Techno's "I have a pickaxe, and I'll put it through your teeth." line.

\- Quackity also has wings! He has yellow duck wings that are smaller than Phil, Techno, Wilbur's and Tommy's.

\- Wilbur still has his wings as Ghostbur, but they're black to reflect his corruption in life. He's started decorating the feathers with blue.

\- When Ghostbur found the blue sheep near Techno's base, it reminded him of a past time where he had a certain sheep-like friend who wore a blue sweatshirt. He can't remember much, but names the sheep 'Friend' anyway.

\- Wilbur used to write songs for Sally. She used to love music and would often play a music disc whilst waltzing with Wilbur on the beach.

\- Sally is alive.

\- Ghostbur's croaky voice is due to his sore throat from shouting and yelling before he died. Also coughing up blood while you die isn't good for your throat.

\- I've mentioned this before, but all forest-spirits (Sally, Fundy, etc) are nonbinary! They can choose pronouns and some dress like their preferred gender. Fundy chose he/him pronouns and Wilbur was extremely accepting of this when Fundy told him.

Whilst in exile, Tommy's hair grew longer than usual. When he moved in with Techno and grew more comfortable with him, he allowed Techno to cut his hair after the snowy winds kept blowing it in his face. He also often takes Techno's capes and uses them as comfort items when he begins to panic.

Tommy hates small spaces. After continuously hiding from Dream in the box in Techno's house, and living in a small tent in exile, he finds himself dreading being trapped in small areas.


	21. Restrained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil receives punishment for not cooperating with the New L'Manberg government.

“Well, well, well.. What’s this?” Quackity’s smug voiced sounded from behind Phil, who whipped around to see what the hell he was talking about. When he saw, his heart dropped into his gut. From the duck man’s hand dangled a shimmering compass on a chain, with the words “Techno’s Base” engraved into the metal side.  
“Shit..” Phil muttered under his breath as Quackity inspected the compass. “Give that back!” He braced his wings and lunged at him, knocking the unsuspecting man off his feet and causing him to land on the hard floor of Phil’s house. The compass rolled onto the ground, Quackity’s stumble causing him to drop it. However, before Phil could reach out for it, Fundy stood over the compass and swiped it away from him with his clawed hands. Phil glared up at his grandson, who only smiled back at him.  
“Not following rules, eh?” Quackity chuckled, getting back to his feet and suddenly seeming a lot taller as he loomed over Phil. Phil stood up straight again, clearing his throat and allowing his rage to show through his eyes.  
“That sounds like treason, doesn’t it, Mr. President?” Quackity nudged Tubbo, who stood by them. The boy rested his calm gaze on Phil and nodded.  
“Unfortunately so.” He stepped forwards, ears pricked forwards as his growing horns framed his face. Phil looked down at the boy he had raised, betrayal hidden behind his stoic expression.  
“Phil, I’m putting you under house-arrest.” Before Phil could protest, Tubbo held up a hand. “You could have handed it over; you had an easy way, but you’ve made us do it the hard way, so you’ll be getting the hard treatment.” Tubbo glanced over his shoulder at Quackity, who pulled a pair of glimmering iron boots from his inventory.  
“Put these on.” He handed them to Phil, who tentatively took them. He was experienced; he knew what these were.  
“Did you fucking enchant these?” He frowned.  
“It’s just so we know you won’t leave your house. They won’t let you far out of your door, and will alert us if you even try to get further.” Tubbo responded. Phil grunted, shrugging and putting the boots on.  
“Is everything to your satisfaction?” He sneered, folding his arms across his chest. Almost immediately, Tubbo’s stern gaze turned into one of uncertainty, and he looked back at Quackity, who only grinned.  
“We also decided we should take some.. extra precautions to make sure you don’t find a way out. You’re sneaky, after all.” The duck man pulled out some shears from his inventory, clicking them between his fingers experimentally.  
“Stretch out your wings for us.” Phil felt whatever hope he had evaporate at the demand.  
“What?”  
“You heard me.”  
“There’s no fucking way you’re going to clip my wings-”  
“I gave you an order!” Quackity snapped, interrupting Phil. Phil turned his gaze to Tubbo, who looked down.  
“Tubbo doesn’t look like he gave this order. He’s the president, not you.” Phil growled.  
“Tubbo is taking advice from his cabinet. Now, follow the goddamn order and stretch out your wings.” Quackity hissed. Phil cast one hopeless glance back at Tubbo, who simply nodded. Reluctantly, Phil stretched out one of his wings, flinching when Fundy took hold of it to keep it fully pulled out. Tubbo turned away as Quackity ruthlessly snipped the long, grey feathers. The weathered tufts fell to the wooden floor, and Phil felt a horrible feeling creep into his stomach. He was flightless. He was grounded. His other wing followed, until the ground around his feet was littered with the cut ends of his feathers. Quackity stood back, seemingly satisfied with his work. His own yellow wings were folded, untouched on his back; it was like a stab in the back to Phil. The man must have known how much this punishment would effect Phil. Motherfucker.  
Quackity stepped over the fluffy grey mess that coated the floor to come face to face with Phil, grinning in the other’s face.  
“See you soon, old man.” He chuckled, before turning on his heel and walking out of the door. As if to show off, his flexed his brightly coloured wings as he strode away. Phil clenched his fist at his side; the urge to punt the bastard into the sun was strong. Tubbo followed, eyes averted away from meeting Phil’s. Surely he didn’t want to do this. But he didn’t stop Quackity either, and Phil held a grudge against him for that. Finally, Fundy trotted out of the door, clutching the shining compass in his hand. Looking round at the now-flightless man, he grinned a toothy smile.  
“I still love you, Grandpa!” He chirped. Phil growled.  
“You’re dead to me.” The venom that crept into his tone must have startled his kin, because Fundy’s ears flattened against his head and he hurried out of the house as fast as he could. With a sigh, Phil looked down at the messily cut remains of his feathers, kneeling down and picking one up in his hand. He narrowed his eyes, fingers trembling with anger, before he took a deep breath and beginning to clear up the mess.

“Psst! Phil!” A voice echoed in the basement that Phil was in the middle of building. The last few days without flight had caused him more discomfort than he had expected. He knew he was due to molt soon anyway, so he knew the clippings weren’t permanent, but he had definitely noticed a change in his life. He could no longer glide down the stairs; he discovered this the hard way when carrying some mushroom stew down to his main room. He had simply fallen, hurting his knees and spilling the soup everywhere. Phil was sure there were other hindrances, but as he was not able to leave his home, he had yet to find them out. In the end, he had resorted to working on a new project that was technically within the walls of his home. The basement would improve his storage, and allow him to test out new projects without having to worry about any destruction caused to his main rooms. He had been bustling around, humming a tune to himself, when the voice called to him again.  
“Phil!” The winged man spun round, squinting at the nothingness behind him. Suddenly, an invisible figure began to equip armour, and Phil’s eyes widened as he recognised the voice of his middle son.  
“Techno? What the fuck are you doing here?” He hissed, rushing forwards and wrapping his arms around his child. Techno hugged him back, just as tightly.  
“I heard about your house-arrest and what they did to you.” He muttered, anger finding its way into his rumbling voice when he spotted the mess they had made of his father’s wings. Of all people, Techno knew what being flightless was like. After years of travelling and reckless fighting for blood, his own pink wings had become so scarred that no new feathers grew anymore. The battered feathers that remained wouldn’t allow him to fly, and so he had resorted to new techniques; his favourite was using a trident to propel himself into the air when he was in contact with water or rain. Techno used his wings to direct himself and begin a glide, but they would not support him anymore.  
“I have some invisibility potions. I’m getting you out of here.” Techno thrust a bottle of purple liquid into Phil’s hand. Phil nodded and drank it, handing the empty bottle back to his son. Looking down at his hands, he watched as they slowly faded into nothing.  
“Good. Follow me.” Techno held the bottle in his hand and unequipped his armour, using the bottle to guide Phil. The two men mined a tunnel out of the basement and began their escape. Phil had figured out how to slip out of the ankle monitor days ago, and smashed them on a rock with ease. They travelled wordlessly out of New L’Manberg without anybody noticing, entering the Nether and exiting out of a separate portal back in the Overworld. As the invisibility began to wear off, Phil felt his wings shiver from the cold of the snowy biome he was now in. He really hoped his feathers would grow back soon. Techno finally broke the silence with a smile, leading his father to a well-built house in the middle of the snowy tundra.  
“I have a surprise for you at home.” Phil raised an eyebrow.  
“Hm?”  
“You’ll see. He might be resting though.” Phil’s suspicions grew even more, his mind wandering to what Techno could be talking about. Finally, they stepped through the spruce doors and into the stone basement. Techno led Phil down a ladder, and gestured to a room close by. When Phil turned the corner, his heart swelled and he felt happier than he had in days. His youngest son, who L’Manberg presumed dead, was sleeping peacefully on a bed. Tommy’s wings were neatly folded on his back, and a warm, blue coat was draped over him. In that moment, Phil felt hope.


	22. A Day Out With Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, we get more insight into what life was like for Schlatt raising Tubbo alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for abusive parenting??

“Daaaaad!” A wail echoed down the halls of Schlatt’s home. The businessman himself was up late working on some contracts he needed to get posted the next day, and the constant calls from his son was making him want to tear his hair out. Tubbo was only young, turning 3 in a few months. Schlatt had cared for him since he was a couple of weeks old, but he didn’t think he’d ever tune out the cries for attention each and every night. The shouts and yells that splintered through his ears made him want to tear his horns out. God, the kid could be insufferable.  
Another “Daaaad!!” rang through the room, this time accompanied by a sniffle. Sighing, Schlatt put his pen down and rose to his feet. Time to do the ‘dad’ thing. He rubbed his temples as he slowly made his way towards the toddler’s room.  
“What? What do you want?” He questioned as he poked his head around the doorframe, tired eyes with large, dark circles beneath them narrowed on the boy. Tubbo looked up from where he was stood, hands grasping the edges of the cot he was supposed to be sleeping in. His cheeks were wet with tears and under one arm, his bee plushie was pressed against his side. His little fuzzy ears flattened, and he hiccupped another sob.  
“Well?” Schlatt demanded, quickly realising his voice may have been a tad too sharp for the time of night. Tubbo’s hands trembled and he struggled to find the words.  
“I had a bad dream..” Schlatt resisted the the urge to roll his eyes. He’d heard this excuse before; Tubbo said he had bad dreams every night. Surely he was making them up for attention.  
“Again?” He asked with fake sympathy, making sure his voice was more quiet. The goat man stepped into the room properly, heading towards Tubbo’s cot. The toddler nodded, wiping his eyes with his pyjama sleeve and causing the soft cotton to grow damp. Schlatt reached over the bars of the cot and lifted the child out, instinctively holding him against his chest. Almost immediately, Tubbo started whining and reaching his short arms down to where he had dropped his bee plushie in the cot. Schlatt was quick to pick it up and hand it to the boy; he had made the mistake of taking too long way too many times. The infant’s eyes lit up and he cuddled the toy close while nestling against Schlatt’s shirt. The reluctant father groaned as his son smeared wet tears on his neatly-ironed shirt, but he didn’t have the energy to be mad for much longer. Turning on his heel, he started to stride out of the room and towards his own.  
“Alright, kid. You’re sleeping in my room tonight.” Tubbo smiled widely and Schlatt rolled his eyes again. He knew this was just what the infant wanted, and he didn’t care enough to stop him. When they reached Schlatt’s own bedroom, he placed the boy gently down on the pillows, turning his back to change his shirt from a crumpled button-up to a more comfortable blue one. He sat on the edge of the bed and led back against the cushions, sighing in content as he did. Tubbo watched, before shuffling down to his side and burrowing into his chest. Schlatt looked over at him, cracking a small smile.  
“You’re funny, kid.”  
Tubbo giggled, looking back up at his father.  
“What’s a kid?”  
“It’s a baby goat. I thought it fit you.” He reached over and gently brushed his fingers over the fuzzy tips of Tubbo’s ears. In return, Tubbo reached an arm up and latched onto the end of one of Schlatt’s curled horns.  
“If I’m a baby goat, and you’re a big goat, when will my horns appear? I wanna look like you!”  
Schlatt laughed, tilting his head away from Tubbo’s hand.  
“Not for a few more years yet, kid. You’ll get little nubs eventually; I’m sure.”  
The toddler’s eyes widened and he seemed to buzz with excitement.  
“Until then, I need you to sleep.” Schlatt reached over him to grab at the edge of the sheets, tugging them over both of them.  
“We’ve got a big day of errands to run.”  
Tubbo was already yawning, stretching his arms out with a whine before curling into his father’s chest, his bee plushie clutched in his arms. Schlatt wrapped an arm around him, resting his chin atop Tubbo’s fluffy nest of hair.  
“Nanight, dad.”  
“Night, Tubbo.”

Schlatt opened his eyes blearily, bringing up a hand to wipe them and focus his vision. He still felt exhausted; thanks to Tubbo for clinging to him and fidgeting all night. The toddler in question was peacefully curled up beside him, his soft brown tufts of hair peeking out of the covers and messily strewn around his head. Schlatt moved his own tangled hair out of his face and watched his son for a few minutes. Even as he watched him clutch his bee plushie and breathe gently, he couldn’t feel the swell of love and pride in his chest that one would expect to experience when gazing upon their child. Sure, Schlatt likes the kid, he had to. But he wasn’t sure if it was love. Shrugging the thoughts off, he sat up and stretched with a stifled groan. Apparently it wasn’t quiet enough, and Tubbo whined in protest at being woken up. Schlatt huffed, tugging the covers away from the slowly-waking toddler.  
“C’mon, kid. Morning time. We’ve got places to be and I don’t have time to wait.” He pushed himself off the edge of the bed and headed towards the bathroom to clean himself up. Before entering, he twisted round to look at Tubbo, who was shuffling into a sitting position whilst yawning and rubbing his eyes with the back of his sleeve.  
“Go get some clothes for the day, I’ll help you change once I’m done in here.” Tubbo nodded, carefully clambering down from the tall bed and stumbling into the corridor towards his bedroom. Once Schlatt had brushed his teeth and hair and tugged some of his own clothes on, he left the bathroom to find Tubbo wandering back into the room with his arms full of what he wanted to wear for the day. He’d picked out a yellow striped shirt and pale blue overalls; the usual.  
“Where are we going today, Dad?” Tubbo asked as Schlatt knelt in front of him to help him change.  
“We’re going to get some important letters delivered and pick up some shit from my PO box. I can get us some lunch too, since it might take a while.” He explained as he buttoned up the overalls. Tubbo nodded.  
“Can I help out?”  
“Sure, kid. You can carry the letters.” Tubbo’s eyes lit up and Schlatt chuckled. Once Tubbo was dressed and ready to go, Schlatt pulled on a jacket and grabbed his keys. The two left the house and walked down the street towards the main town centre. Tubbo clutched the large pile of letters close to his chest as he walked behind Schlatt. His father was walking faster than he was, only lagging back to light a cigarette and put it between his teeth. Tubbo looked up at him, determination on his face to try and keep up with his dad’s large strides. Unfortunately, in his effort to speed up, the toddler tripped over a crack in the pavement and dropped the letters.  
“Dad!” He called, a tremble in his voice as he crouched down and started to pick the letters up as quick as he could. Schlatt turned round and growled under his breath at the mess.  
“It took me fucking forever to write those. They’d better not be ruined.” He blew smoke out of his mouth as he spoke, causing Tubbo to cough and blink tears from his eyes.  
“I’m sorry, Dad. I got them all back though.” He held up the slightly damp letters in his arms, wet from the puddles on the ground that they had fallen into. Schlatt frowned, before starting to walk again. Tubbo tried to ignore the tears stinging his vision.  
It seemed that Tubbo’s luck was nonexistent today, and Schlatt was only growing more and more irritated. After they delivered the letters to the post office, they headed to a sandwich shop for lunch. Tubbo got a basic ham sandwich, which he was very grateful for. Schlatt knew the kid was just sucking up to him, though. When they reached the PO Box, Schlatt retrieved the parcels he had received. Tubbo offered to carry them to make up for earlier, but Schlatt only scoffed at him.  
“After what happened to the letters? No way, kid.” The toddler found himself once again fighting back tears. As they walked back home in uncomfortable silence, Tubbo struggled to stay close to his father as they passed through a large crowd of people. Suddenly, his father was gone. Tubbo’s breathing quickened and his eyes filled with water again. He darted round, bumping into people’s’ legs as he cried out for Schlatt.  
“Dad! Dad!!” He yelled, whipping his head round and searching desperately for him. A large hand grabbed his upper arm from the crowd and Tubbo spun round to see Schlatt holding onto him. His expression brightened with relief, until he saw the fury that was twisting his father’s face.  
“What the fuck was that, Tubbo? How goddamn hard is it to stay by my side?” Schlatt hissed, digging his nails into Tubbo’s arm. Tubbo sniffled, trying to pull his arm away. Schlatt only held on tighter.  
“I’ve told you a million fucking times, don’t run off without me!”  
“I-I didn’t run! I was following but there were too many people a-and-“ Tubbo’s efforts to excuse himself were futile, as Schlatt tugged him harshly towards him.  
“Don’t lie to me, you little shit.” He growled. Tubbo couldn’t hold back tears now, and cried into his other arm as Schlatt continued to scold him. A few people stopped and stared, but no one would help him. Finally, Schlatt let go of his arm and roughly yanked his hand.  
“Don’t let go of my hand, you hear me?” Schlatt asked, standing up straight again. Tubbo struggled to form words as endless hiccups and sobs spilled from his mouth.  
“Tubbo?” The amount of venom and hatred that laced Schlatt’s tone made the toddler look up and nod as best as he could.  
“Good.” Schlatt narrowed his eyes and began to walk again. It was far too fast for Tubbo to comfortably keep up, but his little hand was held in his father’s vice-like grip, and he didn’t want to know what would happen if he tried to let go.  
When the two got back home after walking in silence, Schlatt sent Tubbo to his bedroom. He produced a key from his pocket and once his son was in the room, the door was slammed behind him and a click confirmed it was now locked. Tubbo ran to his cot to retrieve his bee plushie, clutching it tight to his chest between his trembling arms. As he curled up against his wall, he could only hope that he wasn’t locked in here as long as last time.


	23. A Past Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tubbo and Tommy hear an old story of a town that went mad, and decide to visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on an idea I had where Robin was one of Tubbo's past lives/Tubbo is Robin's reincarnation! All context for this chapter is from Karl's Tales From The SMP, specifically The Village That Went Mad!

“The end.” Phil closed the book on his lap with a smile and a gentle sigh. Tommy gazed up at him, large blue eyes wide in wonder. The young boy turned to Tubbo, who was curled against one of Phil’s arms, comfortably nestled beside him in the big armchair. He had been dozing off whilst listening to the tale, but lifted his head when Tommy elbowed him in the side.  
“That was so cool! Right?” Tubbo blinked at his friend’s excitement and nodded, grinning.  
“Yeah! I feel bad for that Robin boy though.” He agreed. Wilbur stood up, stretching.  
“My version of Helga is funnier than yours, Dad.” He grinned cheekily, and Tommy giggled. Wilbur had occasionally butt into the story when the village’s snooty woman was mentioned, putting on a high, squeaky voice and causing Tommy and Tubbo to collapse into laughter. Nearby, Techno chuckled as he adjusted his glasses on his nose. The older boy had been sat across the room, reading a book about Greek legends; but he had secretly been listening in to the story.  
“Apparently, the village that went mad is a real place.” Phil raised an eyebrow, scooping his hands under Tubbo’s armpits and moving the small boy to his lap.  
“Really, now?”  
“Yup. There’s maps that show where the village may have once been. It’s just ruins now, but it might be fun to go to one day.” The teen closed his book and lifted his gaze to see both Tommy and Tubbo staring at him with sparkling eyes.  
“Where is it?” “Where’s the map?” “Can we go?” “I’ll go put my boots on!” The two bombarded him with questions, and Tommy rose to his feet to begin collecting his items. But, before he could leave the room, Phil held onto the back of his shirt to stop him from running.  
“Not so fast, kiddo. It must be very far away, I don’t recognise the name of the area that’s written in the book.” Tommy pouted at this, flapping his fluffy yellow wings indignantly.  
“Maybe, when you and Tubbo are older, you’ll find it.” Phil spoke softly, standing from his chair. Tubbo had already begun to grow drowsy again, burrowing into Phil’s shirt as he was carried in the man’s arms. Tubbo didn’t have any wings, but it didn't stop Phil from stretching one of his own large, grey wings around him. Tommy shrugged, but eventually nodded with a triumphant smile.  
“Yeah! Let’s go when we’re older!”

“Tubbo! Hurry up! I think it’s this way!” Tubbo lifted his head, walking as fast as he could through the bracken and woodland that laced the area. He and Tommy had only recently moved to the area, and Wilbur was in the process of building a nation he named ‘L’Manberg’. When they had begun exploring their new-found home, the name of some of the villages nearby struck a chord with the two teens, and Tommy scrambled to find an old, battered copy of a storybook that his father had read to them when they were young. There was a hastily scribbled map in the back of the book; the same one that Tommy now clutched in his hands as he jogged through the forest.  
“Are you sure this is it?” Tubbo called ahead, the tufts of fur on the tips of his ears flattening in the breeze.  
“Yeah! This way!” Tommy shouted over his shoulder. Tubbo kept going, hopping over a collapsed pile of mossy bricks. The second his feet touched the ground again, however, a strange feeling of familiarity punched him in the gut. He stumbled and crashed into Tommy’s back, as his friend had stopped dead in the path. Tubbo picked himself up with an ‘oof’, rubbing his head.  
“We’re here.” Tommy’s voice was quiet, and Tubbo stood by his side to see what he had found. Before them, there was a small settlement. Cobwebs and rubble littered the abandoned town, and the harsh cackle of a crow from above alerted the boys that something very bad had happened here. Tommy folded the map and stuffed it into his pocket, walking confidently into the circle of ruins. Tubbo, however, walked more cautiously, aware that he was walking in the footsteps of people long gone. As Tommy was exploring the old fountain in the centre of the town, Tubbo went to inspect the houses. Some of the signs were unreadable, the wooden inscriptions so eroded and cracked that he could barely make out any letters. Stopping at one house, however, the familiar feeling seeped into his veins again, and Tubbo felt something unusual wash over him. The sign was covered in vines and cobwebs, but he could clearly read the name ‘Robin’.  
“Ey, Tubbo! What have you found?” Tubbo was snapped out of his thoughts as Tommy shouted. His voice and footsteps echoed through the abandoned area, and soon enough, he was at his side. Tommy opened his mouth to say something, but his expression changed into one of concern.  
“Hey, big man? You good?” Tubbo’s confused eyebrow raise prompted Tommy’s puzzlement to grow even more.  
“You’re crying.” Lifting a hand to his cheeks, Tubbo found his fingers wet with tears. He was crying, but why? Why was this place making him sad? Using the back of his sleeve, he wiped his eyes.  
“I don’t.. I don’t actually know.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s hayfever. Let’s just move on, hm?” Tommy didn’t seem convinced, but nodded and headed back to the entrance of the village where a crumbling stone room stood. Tubbo followed, eyes wide with intrigue.  
“Looks like a prison cell. Go stand in it, it’ll be funny.” Tommy chuckled, nudging Tubbo forward. Hoping to get back the feeling of fun and wonder, he nodded and hopped over a large rock to step inside the room. The moment he looked back out of the rusty bars, he froze. Where Tommy once stood, there were a number of men and women staring at him with hatred in their eyes. A blurry purple and green figure stood in the back, but Tubbo couldn’t focus on him if he tried. He clutched the hat he had removed from his head, and looked down in terror and shame. Grief washed over him as the click of a lever sounded. Then he was falling into unbearable heat. A scream bubbled out of his mouth. Suddenly, amongst the darkness and pain, a voice called out to him.  
“Tubbo! Tubbo!!” Tommy’s voice broke through the vision, and Tubbo snapped open his eyes to see his friend shaking his shoulders roughly. Tubbo’s heart pounded in his chest, and more tears were spilling from his eyes. Tommy breathed a sigh of relief when Tubbo was responsive again, and hugged his friend close, wrapping his yellow wings around him.  
“What the fuck was that?! You started crying and screaming and shit.” Tommy’s blue eyes reflected panic and worry, and Tubbo knew he couldn’t just shrug it off again.  
“I saw so many people, I don’t.. I don’t know what’s happening. I think it’s this place.” He trembled.  
“Do you want to go?” Tommy asked quietly, and Tubbo nodded as he wiped his eyes again. With a smile, Tommy helped Tubbo to his feet.  
“Lead the way back, big man.” He grinned, and Tubbo playfully shoved him.  
“Alright, let’s go.”  
The two boys set off back down the path they followed before to get to the village, with the aim of making it back to L’Manberg before nightfall. However, Tubbo’s feet led him in a different direction. Down a path covered in brambles and overgrowth, a graveyard lay near the ruins of the village. Tommy seemed even more confused, but took Tubbo’s hand to keep him grounded. Tubbo looked back at him with a grateful but sad smile. The two stopped in front of a grave with Robin’s name on it, and Tubbo felt the overwhelming urge to grieve and cry once more when he saw the grave beside it read ‘Corpse’. Memories of a life he never lived flashed through his mind, and he reached down to pick a handful of yellow flowers. Gently placing them on the two graves, he turned to Tommy.  
“Let’s go home.”


	24. Betrayal Of a Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter on from the perspective of Phil and Techno, and how they reflect on Tommy's sudden change of sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> philza minecraft you cause me pain  
> Also to any new readers, hello! Feel free to follow me over on twitter at @roserocks_art! :D

When Phil waved from the window that morning, two of his sons walked away. Tommy’s yellow wings flapped with anticipation and he lightly hovered off of the ground, causing some odd footprint patterns in the snow. He couldn’t fly very high, as his wings were recovering from the damages that Dream caused him whilst in exile; plus the fact he was carrying bottles of potions and heavy armour. Techno led the way, simply lifting a hand behind him in farewell. Techno’s pink wings had been so torn and scarred from years of battle that no feathers grew there again. He hadn’t been able to fly in years, so a trident was his preferred way of transport through the air. His long hair was plaited neatly, resting on the shimmering netherite armour he wore, and he dragged his axe through the snow underfoot. Phil had smiled, watched until the boys were out of sight on the horizon, and got to work with his chores for the day.

Phil had spent the day working on little farms, cleaning Techno’s home and organising chests, as well as making sure his horse and bees were tended to. Phil’s own wings had been clipped when he was put under house arrest, but thanks to Techno’s potion making skills and a well-timed molt, they were almost back to normal. He had taken great joy in being able to glide around the area, feeling the cool breeze ruffle his feathers. He wasn’t fully able to fly yet, but he was happy with the progress.

However, when nightfall came, only one of his sons returned. Phil sat with a blue cape tugged around his shoulders, cross-legged in front of the fireplace. He held a bowl of mushroom stew in his hands, calmly watching the steam rise as he waited for it to cool. The first sign that someone was home was Carl snorting and neighing outside. Phil rose to his feet, setting the warm bowl down on the stone beside the fire. He headed to the window and pulled it open, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. Trudging back through the thick snow was Technoblade. Tommy was nowhere to be seen. Phil’s wings quivered in fear; he couldn’t bear to lose another son. He knew Tommy was on his last life, surely he hadn’t lost it so soon?

Techno stormed through the front door, grunting and shrugging his armour off. Phil rushed over to him, and the warrior only grew more furious at the fear in his father’s eyes.  
“Techno? What’s happened? Where’s Tommy?”  
“Tommy’s gone.” Techno growled, gritting his teeth and placing his armour back on the stands by the door. Phil’s face twisted in confusion.  
“Gone? He’s not.. he’s not dead, is he..?”  
Techno frowned.  
“No. He’s not dead. But he’s not coming back.” Phil grew even more confused, though he was relieved that Tommy wasn’t dead.  
“Come to the fire. Tell me what happened.” Phil took the weapons from Techno’s hands, allowing him to clench them in fury. After placing the tools in their designated chest and making Techno sit, he removed his blue cape and draped it over the pig warrior’s shoulders. He sat beside him, waiting patiently for him to speak. And when he did, Techno’s voice shook in anger and betrayal.

As Phil listened, he found his fear and concern for his youngest son dissolve away, and disappointment and irritation took its place.  
“And then he turned to me and said he ‘didn’t like what he’d become’, and went to stand by Tubbo’s side.”  
“Even after Tubbo gave Dream the disc? After he exiled him?” Phil’s eyes widened. Techno nodded, his hands gripping the fabric of the cape so harshly that it might tear.  
“After everything we did for him; after everything you did for him.. he still left us to stand with that nation. With that government.” As Phil murmured, Techno’s growling only grew louder.  
“I’ve agreed with Dream to destroy it all tomorrow. I’m done with being used as a weapon. This time, none of them are even going to consider messing with me again.” Techno snarled. Phil placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and the pig warrior seemed to come to his senses and calm down a little.  
“You’ve been used as a weapon so many times. You’ve been betrayed too much.” Phil narrowed his eyes.  
“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to help tomorrow.”  
Techno’s response was one of a chuckle and a small smile.  
“I didn’t take you as someone to encourage destruction and devastation, nevermind partake in it.”  
Phil stretched out a wing and wrapped it around Techno.  
“Times change, I suppose.”  
He lifted his head and looked out of the window at the snowfall outside. The fire continued to crackle.  
“Besides. My son needs to be taught a lesson.”


	25. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil deals with his emotions after killing the ghost of his son, and Ranboo finds comfort in an unlikely home.

Phil opened the door to his and Techno’s shared home, the snowy winds slamming it behind him. The winged man’s shoulders were tense and his teeth gritted together on the verge of painful. Today had been.. rough.

When Ghostbur came to Phil to ask to be brought back to life, a fresh wave of guilt washed over him. Since the day that Wilbur had begged him to drive the sword through his stomach, Phil had felt more regret than he had in a long time. It hurt. He spent days after the event putting on a mask of strong determination, helping his remaining sons with building their lives back up, assisting Tubbo with fitting into his new role, sealing the small, stone room that still held traces of dried blood on the ground where the rain hadn’t yet washed it away..

When no one else wanted to set up a grave or funeral service for Wilbur, Phil took it into his own hands. It was the least he could do. And when he was alone, his mask cracked. The father allowed himself to grieve for a son he removed from the world. So when Ghostbur appeared, Phil was shaken, to say the least. He knew Wilbur would never be completely gone, but the guilt still plagued him each and every day.

And today, he had to recreate that painful moment not once, but twice. Picking up the diamond sword from his ender chest and weighing it in his palms sent sharp pains of regret into his chest, and it nearly caused him to stumble. Sure, it was easier to push the blade through the chest of a ghost, but it still hurt. Wilbur never screamed when he died, but Ghostbur did. Ghostbur wailed in agony as his form began to dissipate, wisps of grey and yellow fading into nothingness. A heavy weight settled in Phil’s chest when his son was gone again.

Ghostbur’s return from the plane of existence he temporarily visited was.. concerning to say the least. Phil had breathed a sigh of relief; but it got stuck in his throat when Ghostbur was eager to give it another try. The winged father’s hands shook even more and he almost missed when plunging the sword into Ghostbur once more. Phil squeezed his eyes shut and rested his head on Ghostbur’s shoulder as the ghoul cried and panicked. Beads of tears threatened to slip out of Phil’s eyes. This was so, so much worse than he ever could have imagined.

Once again, the ritual didn’t work, and Ghostbur wasn’t in the best shape. Phil staggered to his ender chest and hurriedly placed the sword back inside. He didn’t want to look at it anymore. He roughly swiped a sleeve across his eyes and put on a smile for the surrounding people. He was very good at that. Regret dragged at his flesh, forming a chain around his ankle and forcing him to confront it with each step. The journey to retrieve a Totem of Undying with Eret, Ranboo and Tubbo helped to distract him momentarily, but the moment he and Ranboo stepped back through the portal near Techno’s home, the guilt was back.

Now, Phil fell to his knees. His wings curled instinctively around himself, cradling his form as his shoulders trembled. He had never been more glad to know that Ranboo didn’t live in the building as the broken father sobbed. Warm tears rolled down his cold cheeks and splashed pitifully against the wooden floor. His chest racked and he clutched his shirt where his heart lay, twisting the material in his hands in an effort to do anything to stop the pain that coursed through him. Phil’s facade had shattered, and he wasn’t sure if he was able to thrust that sword into his son’s chest again.

—

Ranboo’s eyes snapped open. He gasped for air and pressed his hands into the floor, startling himself when he didn’t feel the familiar hardness of obsidian. Instead, his fingers dug into frozen dirt, snow reaching mid-way up his forearms. He recoiled at the dampness, scrambling to his feet and wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to quell his shivering. Ranboo looked around at his surroundings, and the first thing he noticed was that there were no footsteps leading to where he was. Sure, it was snowing, but not enough to completely cover any tracks. He searched through his mind to try and figure out what had happened. How had he moved? Wasn’t he in his safe house just a moment ago?  
Before he could think about it any further, the wetness of the snow began to sleep through his jacket and he shuddered uncomfortably. He needed to get inside now.

Upon further inspection of his surroundings, he quickly recognised where he was; he wasn’t far from Techno and Phil’s home - and his own, he supposed. Taking long strides towards the well-lit house, Ranboo hurried closer. He nodded in greeting to Carl in the stable outside, who snorted in response. Quickly climbing the steps and reaching out a shaking hand, Ranboo knocked on the door. He had expected Techno to answer, but instead found the door being swung open to a tired looking Phil. The winged man looked more exhausted than usual, and Ranboo struggled to find the words he wanted to say. Before he could react, however, Phil’s eyes widened.  
“Ranboo! Get inside, you’ll catch a cold out there.” He stretched out a wing and ushered the young man inside, gently nudging him towards the fireplace. As Ranboo knelt before the crackling fire, exhaling softly as the warmth reached him, Phil bustled past. He began putting together a bowl of mushroom stew, casting quick glances at his guest to make sure he was settling down alright. Once the stew was ready, Phil lightly tapped Ranboo’s shoulder to gently alert him that he was there, and handed the bowl over with a smile. The winged man took a seat on the floor beside Ranboo, picking up a discarded bottle of water and lifting it to his own lips to drink.

Ranboo smiled.  
“Thank you, Phil.” He murmured, eating a mouthful of the stew. It was warm and seeped into his bones. The shivers finally began to subside, and Phil seemed pleased.  
“It’s not a problem, mate. How come you were out in the snow? It’s the middle of the night.” Phil asked, tilting his head to one side. Ranboo froze, twisting his head round to look at a clock on the wall. Damn, it really was late. How long had he been outside for?  
“Oh man, I’m sorry. I didn’t wake you, did I?” Ranboo ran a hand through his hair. Phil shook his head almost sadly.  
“No. I’ve been here all night. Thinking.”  
Ranboo’s expression formed into one of confusion, before the memories of the last day rushed back to him. Right. Phil had to kill his dead son twice. Yikes.  
“Are you.. doing okay?” Ranboo asked; and for the first time since entering the house, he noticed that Phil had tear tracks on his face, and he looked disheveled and troubled.  
“Don’t worry about me, Ranboo.”  
“You worry about me.” He rebutted, causing the older to chuckle.  
“Must be a fatherly instinct, then.” Phil smiled, and Ranboo felt his respect and appreciation for the winged man increase.

Ranboo finished his stew and placed the bowl on the stone by the fire, pulling his knees up to his chest. Phil seemed to have relaxed more, too.  
“You didn’t answer my question, by the way.” He prompted, breaking the silence.  
“What were you doing outside?”  
Ranboo opened his mouth to answer, but found it difficult to chose the right words. Phil patiently waited until Ranboo huffed in exasperation, giving up.  
“How about you tell me everything? It might help to jog your memory.” He offered, resting his hands in his lap. Ranboo hesitated before nodding. And so, he told Phil everything. He told him about the panic room. He told him about Dream. He told him about his book, the voice, his teleportation; everything. Phil listened, not interrupting. He would occasionally shift a wing forward, preening a patch of feathers, but his attention was always focused on Ranboo.  
Finally, he finished explaining. He looked up at Phil, whose gaze was brimming with concern and sympathy.  
“Mate..” He started as Ranboo hunched into himself more. Shuffling closer, Phil opened an arm out to the young man. Ranboo began to hesitate, but gave in, moving toward him and accepting the hug. He rested his head on Phil’s chest and breathed softly as the winged man comfortingly rubbed his back.  
“I don’t understand how a lot of things work around here. Things can be confusing. People can be confusing.” Phil murmured.  
“But know that you’ve always got me. You’ve got a place here, don’t forget that.”  
Ranboo looked up at him.  
“What if Techno says no?”  
Phil snorted. “He’ll listen to his old man.” Ranboo laughed softly at that, closing his eyes and letting the drowsiness of sleep and safety wash over him. Phil was nice. He was safe here.


	26. A Sister's Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A newcomer to the area visits the grave of her recently deceased brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cpt puffy supremacy

Captain Puffy stepped foot off of her ship, hooking the rope that was tied onboard around the stone pillar on the docks. She took a deep breath, running her hand through her curly hair and angling her sheep ears forwards. So this was the infamous L’Manberg, hm? Looking round as she walked, she realised patches of grass were burnt, ditches formed with debris scattered across the land. She followed along the wooden path, her gaze scanning the surrounding area for other people.   
“Hello?” Puffy called experimentally, lifting her hands to her mouth and cupping them in order to make her voice echo. She didn’t get an answer, and flattened her ears.

Continuing her exploration, her eyes followed the skyline of buildings and hills; a small bakery dug into the underside of an overhang, wooden stairs leading upwards towards more civilisation, a tiered building made of stone. Puffy stopped to take in the new sights. She took in a deep breath of air, but choked on the scent of smoke and dust, clutching her chest as she coughed. Once she recovered a few moments later, she straightened her posture and tugged part of her cloak over her nose and mouth to keep out the particles, as well as brushing some loose hair behind her ear.

With that, the captain continued to walk. However, she took a few steps before nearly losing her footing. With an irritated huff, she looked down to see what had nearly caused her to fall, only to be met with utter destruction. The wooden path was splintered and cracked, a shattered edge looming over a giant crater in the earth. Water trickled over the rough rock and stone, streaming past smouldering planks and torn flags. Puffy stepped back to a more solid part of the path, unable to tear her horrified eyes from the remains of chaos below. She was so distracted that she barely noticed a group of people mining the uneven mess away. One of them looked up, a man with yellow feathered wings and a beanie. He nudged a short boy beside him, pointing at the newcomer. Puffy’s ear twitched and she looked round, freezing at the sight of people. Another man, one with fluffy ears and a swishing fox tail, called out to her, lifting a hand to wave. The captain backed off, not wanting to talk to anyone there. She only came here for one reason, and one reason only. Staggering back, her back collided with harsh stone, and she grunted. Turning around, though, her eyes widened. She had found what she came for.

Puffy found herself face to face with a photo of a man she had not seen in years. Her ears drooped and she took off her hat in respect for the dead. She had found Schlatt’s grave. Her brother’s grave. Her eyes looked over the vigil site, listening to the crackling of the blue fire amidst the silence of the area. Puffy knelt down, placing her hat on the ground and resting a hand on her knee.  
“Well, Schlatt. I didn’t think this was how you would go.” She murmured, her voice cracking slightly under the weight of the situation.  
“When I got the message you had died, I almost didn’t believe it.” She chuckled bitterly, her lips curling upwards in a sad smile.  
“My own brother; what had you become..?” She knelt in silence, taking some flowers out of her inventory and placing them down beneath the framed image of her kin.

The silence was broken when a small voice spoke behind Puffy.  
“Hello..?” The captain jumped, startled. She picked her hat up and fixed it firmly back on her head, standing up and turning on her heel to address the person speaking to her. Her eyes met a boy’s curious gaze. He was short, with messy brown hair and large blue eyes that looked far too experienced for someone of his age. He had burn scars across his face and visible skin, stretching beneath the smart uniform he wore. Sure, there were some burn marks and tears in the fabric from where he had clearly been involved in a fight of sorts, but his posture was straight and he lifted his head in confidence. Puffy opened her mouth to respond, but then she spotted his furry goat ears and small horns that protruded from his hair, beginning to curl backwards slightly.   
“Who are you?” He asked, tilting his head to one side.  
“I’m Puffy. Captain Puffy.” She managed to pull herself together and put on a smile, extending her hand to him. He smiled in response and shook her hand.  
“I’m Tubbo- President Tubbo.” He stumbled over his words, hurrying to correct himself with his, Puffy assumed new, title. It took all of her energy to stop her eyes from tearing up; if the horns and ears didn’t confirm it, his name surely did.

When Puffy was younger, exploring the seas on her first ship, she often visited her brother in his home. Schlatt was a business man and didn’t have the same drive to adventure as his sister did, but they still kept in touch. After all, a herd must stick together. However, over the years, their bond began to stretch and fray at the seams. Schlatt was selfish, a trickster and tyrant when it came to using people. Puffy didn’t like seeing her brother become someone that people feared or hated, and went to visit to hopefully talk some sense into him. But when she knocked on his door, she was met with an angry looking Schlatt, with a wailing baby in his arms. Puffy learned that Schlatt had cast the mother of his child into the streets, and clearly didn’t care for the young boy he had named Tubbo. Their final interaction lasted in a shouting match, with Puffy storming away and Schlatt threatening her. She knew she should have turned around and gone back to save the child from a life of torment, but she was too stubborn and too angry. It was a decision she had regretted for many years, but she pushed it to the back of her mind to avoid feeling the gnawing guilt in her stomach.

Now, she stood before the grave of her brother with his son, her nephew, in front of her.   
“Can I ask what you’re doing here?” Tubbo spoke up when Puffy was silent, snapping her out of her thoughts. His voice was gentle and kind, with hints of cheerfulness despite the hardships he had clearly gone through. Puffy smiled softly.  
“I came to pay a visit to my br- old friend.” She corrected herself. Perhaps it was best that no one knew she was the dictator’s sister.  
“You knew Schlatt?” Tubbo asked, looking round the captain to see the grave.  
“Mhm.” Puffy nodded, moving to take a seat by the grave. Tubbo sat by her.  
“He was my father.” He murmured, the weight of the words making his voice tremble slightly.  
“I only found out when he tried to kill me.” He chuckled, as if humour was the only way he could work through the trauma. Puffy’s fist clenched at her side.  
“What was he like before.. this?” The young president gestured at the ruins of the area. Puffy hesitated before speaking.  
“He was.. smart. He knew what he wanted and how to get it. He used to be a good person. We stopped talking after he changed.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair.

Tubbo and Puffy spent the next hour or so talking, exchanging memories of Schlatt and anecdotes about their pasts. Puffy grinned as she explained the wonders she had found on her pirating travels, and Tubbo taught her the history of L’Manberg with a proud glint in his eyes. Finally, the sun began to set and Tubbo got to his feet.  
“It’s been lovely to meet you, Captain.” He smiled. Puffy went to answer, but her words changed as they got stuck in her throat.  
“Would.. would you like an extra pair of helping hands around here?” Tubbo blinked.  
“I thought you said you were going adventuring again?” He questioned. Puffy chuckled.  
“I’ve changed my mind. I like this place. I think you’ll be an excellent president and I’d love to help out where I can.” Tubbo‘s smile turned into a large grin.  
“Of course! Maybe later I can show you around and introduce you to everyone!” He turned around, beginning to run back to the crater.  
“See you tomorrow, Captain!” He called over his shoulder with a wave. Puffy waved back, a soft smile on her face. After all, a herd must stick together.


	27. Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Tubbo finally talk after the battle against Dream.

It was over. The disc war was finally, finally over. As the icy wind whistled outside, the realisation finally sunk in. Tubbo cleared his throat, ears pricked forwards as he held a mug of hot chocolate in his hand. Tommy looked round, wings folded neatly on his back despite the missing and bloodied yellow feathers. He cracked a smile, blue eyes sparkling as he reached up and took the steaming cup. Tubbo turned around and picked up his own, placing it down on the table beside the fireplace. After sitting at their bench and watching the sunset, Tommy agreed to stay with Tubbo in Snowchester for the night. The two needed each other; neither wanted to be alone after today’s events.

Tubbo sat down, crossing his legs and pulling the bucket of warm water and sponges closer to himself.  
“How long has it been since you cleaned your wings, man?” He chuckled, gently separating some bent feathers that were matted with crimson. Tommy shrugged, causing the wings to shift slightly from the movement.  
“A while. Phil helped me clean them when I lived with Techno. A lots happened since then, though. I don’t have time to preen.” He snorted in response.  
“Well, you shouldn’t have tried to fly so soon!” Tubbo scolded jokingly, using his hand to squeeze the warm water out of a sponge and beginning to dab at the dried blood. When Tommy was put in exile, Dream had clipped his wings. He did a shit job, leaving the fluffy tufts uneven and ragged. Due to the amount of stress Tommy had been in, plucking his own feathers had been a common occurrence, and by the time he fled to Techno’s home, they hadn’t healed one bit. Over time, they had slowly begun to heal; today was the first time Tommy had flown in months, and it was to block Tubbo from a fatal blow from Dream in their fight earlier.

Tubbo hummed as Tommy’s shoulders relaxed. He practically melted, enjoying the warmth of the water against his bruised and battered wings, taking small sips of his hot drink. The crackling fire and quiet patter of snow against the windows were the only sounds in the room, until Tubbo sighed.  
“A lot’s happened today, huh?”  
Tommy nodded, dropping his chin to his chest as exhaustion seeped into his bones.  
“Wanna talk about it?” Tubbo smoothed down a clump of feathers. “We haven’t talked about things in a long time. It might be good.”  
Tommy hesitated, but nodded.  
“I never.. never really told you what happened in exile, did I?” Tubbo shook his head.  
“Not really. But I’m here to listen.”  
Tommy took a deep breath, ignoring the tremble in his throat, and began to speak.

He told Tubbo about Dream clipping his wings, forcing him to put his items in a hole to be exploded, destroying Logstedshire, nearly driving him to death. Tubbo listened silently the whole time, continuing his gentle process of cleaning Tommy’s wings. When Tommy’s voice began to shake and his hands clutched the fabric of his shirt, Tubbo would always soothe him by stroking the feathers lightly. Tommy would take a deep breath, cast a grateful glance back at his friend, and continue. When he was finished, Tubbo leaned forward and lightly headbutted the back of his shoulder in a soft show of affection. Tommy chuckled, lifting a hand to wipe his eyes.  
“Goat instincts.”  
“Shuddup.” Tubbo snorted. He exhaled and straightened back up.  
“So that’s why you freaked out today when Dream asked us to throw our stuff in the hole?”  
“Mhmm.” Tommy nodded.

“What about you, Tubbo?” Tubbo looked up, tilting his head to one side in confusion.  
“What do you mean?”  
Tommy looked round.  
“You’ve been through a ton of shit too, man. Hell, Dream nearly killed you today!”  
Tubbo shrugged.  
“He didn’t. The worst thing I got today was a broken arm.” He grinned, trying and failing to lift his other arm. When Dream backed him into a corner and threatened Tommy with his life, the man had snapped Tubbo’s arm to scare Tommy. Tubbo had doubled over in pain, begging Tommy to take his discs and run. When Tommy refused to let him die, he had taken his bandana off and used it to make a sling for Tubbo. Now, his arm was resting in the makeshift sling, tugged comfortably against the boy’s chest.  
“Well, putting Dream in the box and threatening to kill him brought back some more.. painful memories.” Tubbo’s goat ears flattened.  
“But that was so long ago. I’ve had to move on.”  
“But have you?”  
Tubbo wasn’t sure how to answer.  
“I don’t.. I don’t know. Maybe? It still hurts to think about.”  
Tommy shook his now-clean wings, folding them again and shuffling to sit beside Tubbo.  
“What do you think about your dad maybe coming back to life?”  
Tubbo snorted.  
“He doesn’t have the right to be called my dad. I finally realised that. If he comes back,” Tubbo smiled up at Tommy, tears brimming in his eyes. “We’ll take him down together.”  
Tommy grinned, his own tears forming and beginning to stream down his face.

The two best friends embraced, allowing each other to cry. They had very much deserved it, and were looking forwards to a time of peace and quiet; however long that may last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s not enough therapy in this household so here’s some emotional goodness.
> 
> Also we’re nearly at 9k hits!! That’s insane!! Feel free to follow me over at @roserocks_art on Twitter to keep up with what I’m doing, and I’m happy to chat about the AU whenever! :D


	28. Security Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a security issue at the prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if Tubbo won’t give us lore I’ll do it myself

Moments after Tommy closed his mouth, yellow wings quivering furiously, the booming sounds of TNT being detonated above the high containment cell caused him to flinch backwards away from Dream. His eyes flickered upwards, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The noise of the explosives tended to bring back some not-so-nice memories of exile.  
"What the fuck is going on?!" He spun round, blue eyes locked firmly on Dream. The man only shrugged, a small smile forming amongst the scars across his face.  
"I don't know." He responded nonchalantly, folding his arms across his chest; Tommy noticed he was careful to avoid the area where he had recently plunged his sword through the man's stomach to take his second life. The blonde teenager froze, turning quickly towards the wall of lava. Without wasting a moment, he ran towards it, skidding to a halt a few inches away.  
"Sam!! Saaaaam!! Where are you?!" He yelled, voice cracking. "I want to leave!"  
"He's not there." Dream murmured, almost tauntingly. The winged teen could hear the prisoner- his abuser- pacing the obsidian behind him. Tommy flared his wings out as a warning, casting a venomous glance over his shoulder at the man. He called for the prison guard- no, his friend, more and more, until his throat was hoarse.  
Tommy fell to his knees, face so close to the lava that he could feel it singing the hairs on his head. His chest ached with panic, and he looked up as he called for the one person he never thought he'd call for again.  
"Dad.. Dad, I need you..!" He cried, wings curling protectively around his form as he trembled.

-

Tubbo jerked up from his sleep, hair disheveled around the horns on his head. A sudden knocking sound in the night had interrupted his sleep, and he looked around as the noise came again. He pushed himself into a sitting position, legs dangling off the edge of the bed before standing up. His arm was still healing from being broken during the battle with Dream, and was held close to his chest in its sling. When the boy reached his door, rubbing his eyes, he was not expecting to see Phil standing there. The man’s wings were twitching uncertainly, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

“Phil?” Tubbo yawned into his forearm. “Are you okay?” Phil ignored the question.  
“Is Tommy here?” He asked. Tubbo frowned, shaking his head.  
“No? He doesn’t live in Snowchester. He’s all the way in his house near the L’Manberg crater and the bench.”  
“That’s the problem.” Phil looked even more worried. “He’s not there.” Tubbo’s ears drooped and he stepped back to let Phil inside. The winged man gave the boy a grateful look, resting his hand gently on the broken arm in the sling. He hadn’t properly spoken to or seen Tubbo since the fight, but his silent gesture said everything.

“I got a strange feeling earlier today from Tommy. I swear I heard him shouting for me.” Phil stopped when he saw Tubbo looking confused.  
“Soul stuff. We’re connected, since I created him.” He explained, and Tubbo nodded in understanding.  
“No one’s seen him all day. I can’t get a hold of Sam, and he’s not near the hotel or anything.”

Tubbo stifled another yawn, fiddling with the hem of his pyjama sleeves.  
“Maybe he’s just.. gone on a walk?”  
Phil sighed. “You know he wouldn’t just up and do that.”  
“No..” Tubbo agreed, looking down. “I’ll keep an eye out for him. You’ll be the first to know if I find him.”  
Phil’s eyes softened and he gave Tubbo a thankful nod.  
“I’ll keep looking. Thanks, Tubbo.” And with that, Phil left Snowchester.

The message of what happened to Tommy came in the morning. Tubbo was farming the potatoes outside his home when the message popped up in chat. He tapped on the floating icon, pulling up the full message. Phil had spoken to Sam. Tommy was trapped in the prison in the main cell due to a security issue. And he was with Dream. At first, Tubbo felt panic. Dream was bad. Really bad. They had locked him up there for a reason. What if he hurt Tommy? What if he killed him? Tubbo dropped the produce he was carrying and ran into his house, skidding slightly on the snow and ice.

As he rifled through his items, his panic turned to fury. Dream had treated Tommy incredibly badly for months. He had traumatised him during exile, and nearly killed him mere weeks ago. Tubbo grit his teeth and huffed under his breath, bumping his horns against the wall. For all he knew, Dream was manipulating and harming his best friend once more. He had to do something.

A knock came at his door, but Tubbo didn’t go to open it. Another knock sounded a few seconds later, and the door creaked open.  
“Tubbo?” Ranboo was there.  
“I’ve got some bad news- oh.” The enderman hybrid stepped into the room, spotting the fury that Tubbo was in.  
“I take it that you’ve already heard..”  
“Yep.” Tubbo said sternly. “And you’re coming with me to fix it.” He threw a diamond axe towards Ranboo, who caught it by the handle.  
“What? No!” He walked towards Tubbo. “We can’t do anything. It’s a security issue; Sam and his guards are working on it.”  
Tubbo only responded by pushing a strength potion into Ranboo’s hand.  
“Tubbo, listen to me. We’re not breaking into the prison.”  
Tubbo ignored him.  
“Tubbo!” Ranboo put a hand on his shoulder. Tubbo whirled round and headbutted Ranboo’s upper arm.  
“Ow! Hey!” Ranboo put both of his hands on his friend’s shoulders.  
“Don’t make me get the sponges. If you’re going to be ramming into things, you need the sponges to stop any damage.”  
Tubbo hesitated, before groaning.  
“Why can’t we go and break him out?”  
“Sam’s handling it. He’s already turned Phil away plenty of times.”  
“But what if Dream’s hurting Tommy? We can’t just stand here and do nothing!” Tubbo felt his eyes begin to grow wet. Ranboo noticed too, and opened his arms to allow the ram hybrid to hug him and bury his face in his shirt.  
“I told you, Sam and his guards are handling the issue. We can deal with Dream and help Tommy once it’s sorted. Besides, do you really think Sam would let Dream lay a finger on Tommy?”  
Tubbo sighed.  
“No..”  
“See? He’ll be okay.” Ranboo soothed, rubbing circles into Tubbo’s back. Somewhere deep down, he was trying to believe it too.


End file.
